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FIRST HISTORY OF ROME, 

miH QUESTIONS. 

BY E. M. SE WE LL. 

Author of Amy Herbert, &c. &c. One volume,' 16mo. 50 ct3. 
Extract from Editors Prpfacp. 

^ote^£d r^^^'^^'^^'j ^"^''^^ throughout to be clearly understood bv thi^7orwlfom ^ 
^- 1<^J^^^ impress deeply and permanency on their minds what she wrote and i^bo 
oi ihe^e aims we tnmk she has been eminently successful." ' 



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HISTORY OF CITILIZATIO.\ L\ EUROPK 

FROM THE FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE TO THE FRENCH REVOLUTION 
^^^ B Y M. G U I ZOT. 

Eighth Amencan, from the second English, e-dition. with occasional Notes, by C. S. Henry, D. D. 

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24 



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22 



THE 



SHAKSPEAEIAN READER: 

A COLLECTION OF 

THE MOST APPROVED PLATS 



OP 



SHAKSPEARE; 

CAREFULLY RE^^SED, ^VITH 

INTRODrCTORY iiTD EXPLANATORY xTOTES, 

AXD 

A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 



PREPARED EXPRESSLY FOR THE USE OF CLASSES, AND THE 
FA3nLY READING CIRCLE. 



BY 

JOHN W. S. HOWS, 

PROFESSOR OF ELOCUTION IN C0LU3IBIA COLLEGE. 



- The Max, whom Nature's self had made 

To mock herself, and Truth to imitate. 

Spenser. 



NEW- YORK : 
I>. APPLETOX & COMPANY, 200 BROADWAY. 

PHILADELrHIA : 

GEO. S. APPLETON, 164 CHESXUT-STREET. 



.H7 



Kntered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, by 
D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New-York. 



BenlamlnTu«k« 



■"^ 



TO 

THE HON. OGDEN HOFFMAN, 

THIS ATTE3IPT TO RENDER 

SHAKSPEARE 

AN UNEXCEPTIONABLE CLASS BOOK, 
AND AN ACCEPTABLE FABIILY READER; 

IS 
AS 

A TESTIMONIAL OF GRATEFUL ESTEEM, 

BY 

JOHN W. S. HOWS. 



CONTENTS. 



Hamlet, PRI^'C£ of DE^-MARS, . • 

Much Ado About Nothing, . 

Macbeth, ....... 

As You Like It, 

Othello, 

The Tempest, ..... 
Romeo a^'d Juliet, . . . . , 
The MERCHA^*T of Venice, . 
King Lear, 

MlDSUMMER-XlGHT^S DrEAM, . 

Julius Caesar, 

Twelfth- Night : Or, What You Will, 
Measure for Measure, 

KixG John, 

KixG Henry IV, 

Klxg Henry VIII, . . . 



Pagt 
1 
53 
79 
111 
145 
172 
201 
235 
262 
299 
318 
355 
372 
385 
414 
42S 



PREFACE. 

At a period when the fame of Shakspeare is " striding the world 
hke a colossus," and editions of his works are multiplied with a pro- 
fusion that testifies the desire awakened in all classes of society to 
read and study his imperishable compositions. — there needs, perhaps, 
but little apology for the following selections of his works, prepared 
expressly to render them unexceptionable for the use of Schools, 
and acceptable for Family reading. Apart from the fact, that 
Shakspeare is the " well-spring " from which may be traced the ori- 
gin of the purest poetry in our language, — a long course of profes- 
sional experience has satisfied me that a necessity exists for the 
addition of a work like the present, to our stock of Educational 
Literature. His writings are peculiarly adapted for the purposes of 
elocutionary exercise, when the system of instruction pursued by the 
Teacher is based upon the true principle of the art, viz. — careful 
analysis of the structure and meaning of language, rather than a 
servile adherence to the arbitrary and mechanical rules of Elocution. 

To impress upon the mind of the pupil that words are the expo- 
sition of thought, and that in reading, or speaking, every shade of 
thought and feeling has its appropriate shade of modulated tone, 
ought to be the especial aim of every Teacher; and an author 
lil:e Shakspeare, whose ever}' line embodies a volume of meaning, 
should surely form one of our Elocutionary Text Books. I have 
invariably fou.nd that the attention of youthful pupils is more readily 



VllJ. PREFACE. 

awakened by the force and beauty of his language, than by that of 
all other writers. Interest is uniformly excited in the student by 
the infinite variety of character that our great poet introduces into 
his creations, whilst the perceptive faculties of the reader become 
quickened and roused into action by the wonderful power he ex- 
hibits in " making his persons act and speak by the influence of 
those general passions and principles by which all minds are agi- 
tated." The study of Elocution, under impressions so favorable, 
becomes an exercise truly intellectual, and the objectionable, but still 
necessary mechanism of the art, is reduced to its proper subordinate 
and auxiliary position. 

That his entire works could not be introduced into schools is 
evident ; nor do the " Selections," " Beauties," and occasional 
"Extracts," found in our Class Readers, precisely meet the wants of 
a pupil. These are at best the " bricks," — unsatisfactory speci- 
mens of the imperishable structure that the genius of our poet has 
reared, for the admiration of every age and every clime. 

" The real power of Shakspeare is not shown only by particular 
passages, but much also by the progress of his fables and the tenor 
of his dialogue." Unconnected extracts will always fail to interest 
and impress the young to the same extent as a coherent story and 
an animated scene. 

Acting upon these convictions, I have endeavored to extract the 
essence, as it were, of sixteen of Shakspeare's most approved Dra- 
mas — preserving in each the main story entire, by the aid of brief 
explanatory notes connecting the selections. The strictly poetical 
passages have been generally retained in preference to the comic 
portions, my limits compelling me to a choice between the two. 
Conceding the necessity of this almost imperative choice, I believe 
that the selections are those, to which the lovers of Shakspeare 
most frequently and most satisfactorily recur. 

Of the liberties I have been compelled to take with my author, 



PREFACE. IX 

I scarcely know how to speak with becoming propriety. I profess 
to share the common veneration entertained for the pure unmutilated 
text of Shakspeare ; and can estimate at what it is worth that ultra 
fastidiousness, which denounces the great " Poet of Nature " for 
having made his characters speak agreeably to the spirit of Ms own 
age. Still, in preparing a selection of his works for the express pur- 
pose contemplated in my design, I have not hesitated to exercise a 
severe revision of his language, beyond that adopted in any similar 
undertaking — " Bowdler's Family Shakspeare " not even excepted ; — 
and simply, because I practically know the impossibility of intro- 
ducing Shakspeare as a Class Book, or as a satisfactory Reading 
Book for Families, without this precautionary revision. 

To render the selections better adapted for expressive reading, 
I have also ventured to disencumber several passages of unneces- 
sary circumlocution, consulting standard authorities to aid me in this 
portion of my labors. 

I may be held amenable at the bar of criticism, for what may be 
deemed by many a profanation of Shakspeare. 

In extenuation of my temerity, I may be permitted to say, that 
although the undertaking of such a work as the present, has been 
urged upon me by convictions, practically enforced, of its necessity, 
I have long been restrained from making the attempt from con- 
scientious scruples as to its propriety. But to — 

" Do B. great right ^^^ 

I have done 

" A little wrong. ^^ 

Shakspeare, in the original, is effectually excluded from our 
Schools ; and modern refinement is fast banishing him from the 
Home Reading Circle. To bring his profound moral and intellec- 
tual teachings to bear upon the early mental training of the young, 
and to extend his genial influences around the Domestic Hearth. 



X PREFACE. 

seemed lo me justifiable attempts ; expedient to be made at all 
hazards. 

I have therefore prepared these selections with such a carefully 
expurgated Text, that the Book may be introduced into our Schools 
with perfect confidence, by the most fastidious Teacher ; and with 
equal propriety it can be used for reading aloud in the most refined 
and pure-minded Family, or Social Circle. 

In justice to myself, I may be permitted to add, that I have 
avoided, as far as it was practicable with the nature of my design, 
the substitution of any language of my own for the pure text of 
Shakspeare. I have been compelled occasionally to resort to the 
use of synonymes, but these have been adopted but sparingly. 
When difficulties beset me in the original, I have preferred, in most 
cases, excision to aUeration. I may possibly have 

" Cut beyond the wound, 

To make the cure complete ; ' ' 

but there is high medical authority for believing that this is the 
most successful treatment in desperate cases. 

With this explanatory, and I may add, deprecatory preface, I 
submit the result of my humble, but very toilsome labors, to the 
test of public opinion. 

New-York, February 22, 184^ 



LIFE 

OF 

WILLIAM SHAKSPEAllE 



' The few incidents in Shakspeare's life are surrounded with 
doubt and fable ;' indeed, until lately, little could be said of his 
Biog-raphy, but that *' he was bom, lived, and died.'' The researches 
of Malone, and more recently those of ColUer, Knight, and Halliwell, 
have however thrown some Hght on the Poet's histor}\ and from 
these authorities w^e are enabled to compile a brief memoir of his life 
sufficient for our present design, referring the youthful student to the 
more elaborate sources to which we are indebted. 

William Shakspeare was born at Stratford-upon-Avon, in the 
county of Warwick, England, in April, 1564. He was baptized on 
the 26th of the month, and a tradition exists that he was born on 
the 23d April, the anniversary of St. George the tutelar Saint of Eng- 
land. His father, John Shakspeare, was a wool-comber, or glover, who 
had risen above his somewhat obscure position by marrying a rural 
heiress. Mar}" Arden, possessed of a small estate in Warwickshire. 
Shakspeare's father rose to be high bailiff and chief alderman of Strat- 
ford : but became depressed ih circumstances about the year 1578. 

William was the eldest of six surviving children, and after re- 
ceiving some education in the grammar school of his native town, 
he is said to have been brought home to assist in his father's business. 
There is an entire blank in his history for several years of his early 
life, but it may well be conjectured, that he was then treasuring up 
materials for those imperishable works w^hich have rendered him the 
most eminent genius the world has ever produced. Some of his 
biographers have endeavored to prove that a portion of this period 
was passed in a lawyer's office, from the famiUarity he exhibits in his 



XIV LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 

works, with technical legal phrase and illustrations. But similar 
evidence might be adduced to prove his preparation for the church, 
or for the medical profession, for his works abound in the profoundest 
theological truths, and he appears to be equally well skilled in the 
elementary knowledge of medical science. 

The amount of Shakspeare's educational acquirements has been 
the subject of eager scrutiny and controversy. Ben Jonson, with 
whom he was on terms of intimate acquaintance, says, he had " little 
Latin and less Greek." This is admitting that he knew something 
of both languages. His choice of two classical subjects for his early 
poetry, Venus and Adonis, and Lucrece, and the numerous allusions 
in his Plays to the mythology of the ancients, appear to warrant the 
conclusion that he was, at least, deeply imbued with the spirit and 
taste of classical literature. But, genius such as Shakspeare's did 
not derive its inspiration from mere classical learning. He was 
doubtless an irregular student, yet his native intellect and com- 
prehensive mind enabled him, by study and observation, and " al- 
most by intuition, to treasure up stores of knowledge by which he 
subsequently distanced all the university-bred wits and authors of his 

times." 

On the 28th of November, 1582, Shakspeare was married to Anne 

Hathaway, the daughter of a " substantial yeoman " of the village of 
Shottery, about a mile from Stratford, and in the year 1586, it is 
ascertained that he removed to London, and commenced the occupa- 
tion of a Player. 

Much conjectural speculation has been expended upon the pro- 
bable causes, which induced Shakspeare to adopt the profession of an 
actor, but no authentic accounts can be traced to ascertain the pre- 
cise facts. During the period of his father's elevation to office, 
companies of players were frequently in the habit of performing at 
Stratford ; among these players were several who were Shakspeare's 
townsmen. An acquaintance with these persons may naturally have 
been formed by the future Dramatist, and when circumstances in- 
duced him to quit Stratford, the intimacy with his old associates may 
have been resumed and his connection with the stage decided upon. 

Shakspeare soon rose to distinction in the theatre, for in the year 
1589 he became a shareholder in the Blackfriars Theatre. In 1596 
he was a proprietor, and in 1603 he was named second in a new patent 



LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. XV 

granted to the King's Players, by James I., on that monarch's acces- 
sion to the British throne. 

That the extraordinary powers of Shakspeare as a Dramatic 
writer, was the cause of his rapid elevation in the theatre, is a fact 
almost beyond dispute, for his talents as an actor never appear to 
have risen beyond a respectable mediocrity. A contemporary author- 
ity (supposed to be Lord Southampton) says that he was " of good 
account in the company ;" and traditionary ?vidence assigns him the 
character of the " Ghost in Hamlet," and " Adam in As you Hke 
It." as being among the chief parts he sustained in liis own plays. 

With the nobles, the wits, and poets of his day, he lived in fami- 
liar intercourse. Even royalty unbended to do honor to the immoital 
Dramatist ; his Plays were the favorite recreation of the haughty 
Elizabeth, and even the weak-minded James I. was not insensible 
to the genius of the great Poet. Ben Jonson, in a eulogy on Shaks- 
peare, speaks of his Dramas, " That so did take EHza and our 
James ;" and other contemporary authorities confirm the fact of his 
popularity. 

It is likely that Shakspeare began his career as a Dramatic 
Author by altering and adapting Plays for the Stage, furnished by 
other Dramatists, and subsequently, as he felt his powers expand, he 
poured forth in rapid succession that series of splendid Dramas, which 
are the imperishable monuments of his genius. No distinct chrono- 
logical account can be given of these wonderful productions. It is 
however tolerably well estabhshed, that the whole of the thirty-seven 
Plays were produced before the year 1612, as it is supposed in that 
year he retired finally to his native towm, where he had previously 
purchased an estate, called New^ Place, the principal house in Strat- 
ford. He had by this time acquired a handsome competency ; and, in 
the words of his biographer Rowe, " The latter part of his life was 
spent, as all men of good sense will wish theirs to be, in ease, retire- 
ment, and the conversation of his friends." 

Four years were passed by Shakspeare in this dignified retirement. 
He died on the 23d April, 1616, having just completed his fifty- 
second year. His ^^idow survived him seven years. His tw^o 
daughters were both married at the time of his death, (his only son, 
Hanmet, had died in 1596,) but all these died without issue, and there 
now remains no lineal representative of the Poet. He was interred 



XVI LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 

in the Church of Stratford-upon-Avon, where a monument to his 
memory still exists in good preservation, and a flat grave-stone in 
front of the monument indicates the Poet's grave. On the stone is 
inscribed these lines, which tradition ascribes to be his own composi- 
tion. 

" Good frend, for lesvs sake forbeare 
To digg the dvst encloased heare : 
6IA be ye man yt spares thes stones, 
And cvrst be he yt moves my bones." 

We close this brief and unsatisfactory memoir of the life of 
Shakspeare, by the following comprehensive summary of his charac- 
ter, by Hallam the Historian. 

" The name of Shakspeare is the greatest in our literature. No 
man ever came near to him in the creative powers of his mind ; no 
man had ever such strength at once, and such variety of imagina- 
tion." 



HAMLET, 

PRIXCE OF DENMARK. 



Shakspeare is supposed to have taken the Plot of this Play, from " the History o' 
Hamlet." as it is found narrated in Saxo Grammaticns, the Danish Histoiian. An Engiisl 
translation of this particular story was published during the Poet's life, entitled *' Histori- 
of Hamblet, Prince of Denmark," and from this version, it is conjectured that Shak 
speare drew the materials, which have assisted him in this master-piece of tragic com 
position. As this Play is the most finished and the most popular of our Author'? 
productions, we have incorporated into our seletions nearly all the prominent scenes. 

We cannot better introduce the youthful student into a just discrimiftatien of t>, 
leading characteristics of Hamlet, than by furnishing the following clear analysis from tL 
pen of Goethe, He says — 

" It is clear to me that Shakspeare's intention was to exhibit th« effects of a great 
action imposed as a duty upon a mind too feeble for its accomplishment. 

" In this sense. I find the character consistent throughout. There is an oak planted in 
a china vase, proper only to receive the most delicate flowers ; the roots strike out, and 
the vessel flies to pieces. A pure, noble, highly moral disposition, but without tha: 
energy of soul which constitutes the hero, sinks under a load which it can neither support 
nor resolve to abandon altogether. .^11 his oblig^ations are sacred to him ; but this alone 
is above his powers. 

•' An impossibility is required at his hands ; not an impossibility in itself, but that which 
b so to him. Observe how he shifts, turns, hesitates, advances, and recedes ; how he is 
continually reminded and reminding himself of his great commission, which he, neverthe 
less, in the end, seems almost entirely to lose sight of; and this without ever recovering? 
his former tranquillity." 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Claudius, King^ 0/ Denmark. 

Hamlet, son to the former, and nephew to the present King. 

PoLoxR-s, Lord Chamberlain. 

HonA.Tio, friend to Hamlet. 

Lafktks, son to Polonius. 

o 



2 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

VoLTiMANl., Cornelius, ) CourtierB. 

ROSENCRANTZ, GuiLDENSTEri-N, ) 

OsRic, a Courtier. 

Another Courtier. 

A Priest. 

Marcellus, ) Oficers 

Bernardo, ^ •^•' • 

Francisco, a soldier. 

Reynaldo, servant to Polonius. 

A Captain. 

An Ambassador. 

Ghost of Hamlet's father. 

FoRTiNBRAS, Princc of Norway. 

Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, ajid mother of Hamlet. 
Ophelia, daughter of Polonius. 

Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Players, Grave-diggers, Sailors, Mes- 
sengers, and other Attendants. 

SCENE,— Elsix\ore. 



ACT L 



SCENE I. — Elsinore. . A Platform before the Castle, 
Francisco on his post. Enter to Mm Bernardo. 

Ber. Who's there ? * 

Fran. Nay, answer me : stand, and unfola 

Yourself. 

Ber. Long live the king ! 

Fran. Bernardo ? 

Ber. He. 

Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour. 

Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve ; get thee to bed, Francisco. 

Fran. For this relief, much thanks : 'tis bitter cold, 
And I am sick at heart. 

Ber. Have you had quiet guard ? 

Fran. Not a mouse stirring. 

Ber. Well, good night. 
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, 
The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. 

Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 

Fran. I think I hear them — Stand, ho ! Who is there ? 

Hor. Friends to this ground. 

3Iar, And hegemen to the Dane. 

Fran. Give you good night. 

Mar. O, farewell, honest soklier : 

Who hath reliev'd you ? 



HAMLET. 'i 

Fran. Bernardo hath my place. 

Give you good night. \_Exii Fr'ancisc( 

Mar. Holla, Bernardo ! 

Ber. Say. 

What, is Horatio there ? 

H(yt\ A piece of him. 

Ber. Welcome, Horatio ; welcome, good Marcellus. 

Hor. What, has this thing appear'd again to-night ? 

Ber. I have seen nothing. 

Mar. Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy ; 
And will not let belief take hold of him. 
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us : 
Therefore I have entreated him, along 
With us to watch the minutes of this night ; j 

That, if again this apparition come, ; 

He may approve our eyes, and speak to it. j 

Hor. Tush ! tush ! ''twill not appear. -[\ 

Ber, Sit down awhile ; ; . 

And let us once again assail your ears, .' ; 

That are so fortified against our story, 
What we two nights have seen. I 

Hor. Well, sit we down. 

And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. ! 

Ber. Last night of all, | 

When yon same star, that's westward from the pole, ; j! 

Had made his course to illume that part of heaven -yj 

Where now it burns, Marcellus, and myself, ''^: 

The bell then beating one, — '^ 

Mar. Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again ! 

Enter Ghost. 

Ber. In the same figure, like the king that's dead. 

Mar. Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio. 

Ber. Looks it not like the king ? mark it, Horatio. 

Hor. Most like : it harrows me with fear, and wonder. '< 

Ber. It would be spoke to. j 

Mar. Speak to it, Horatio. % 

Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night, g 

Toofether with that fair and warlike form | 

In which the majesty of buried Denmark f! 

Did sometimes march ? by heaven T charge thee, speak. 

Mar. It is offended. 

Ber. See ! it stalks away. 

Hor. Stay ; speak : speak,! charge thee, speak. yExit Ghost. 

Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer. 

Ber. How now, Horatio ? you tremble, and look pale : 
Is not this something more than fantasy ? 
What think you of it ? 

Hor, T miofht not this believe. 



4 SHAKSFEARIAN READER. 

Without the sensible and true avouch 
Of mine own eyes. 

Mar. Is it not like the king ? 

Hor. As thou art to thyself : 
Such was the very armour he had on, 
When he the ambitious Norway combated ; 
So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle, 
He smote the sledded Polack on the ice. 
'Tis strange. 

Mar. Thus, twice before, and jump at this dead hour. 
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. 

Hor. In what particular thought to work, I know not i 
But, in the gross and scope of mine opinion, 
This bodes some strange eruption to our state. 
In the most high and palmy state of Rome, 
A Httle ere the mightiest Junius fell. 
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead 
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets. 
As, stars with trains of fire shed dews of blood, 
Disaster's dimm'd the sun ; and the moist star. 
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands, 
Was sick almost to dooms-day with eclipse. 
And even the like precurse of fierce events, — 
As harbingers preceding still the fates. 
And prologue to the omen coming on, — 
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated 
Unto our climates and countrymen. — 

Re-enter Ghost. 
But, soft ; behold ! lo, where it comes again ! 
I'll cross it, though it blast me. — Stay, illusion ! 
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice, 
Speak to me : 

If there be any good thing to be done, 
That may to thee do ease, and grace to me. 
Speak to me : 

If thou art privy to thy country's fate, 
Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, 
O, speak ! 

Or, if thou hast uphoarded in thy fife 
Extorted treasure from the depths of earth, 
For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death : 
Speak of it : — stay, and speak. [Exit Ghost. 

Mar. 'Tis gone ! 
We do it wrong, being so majestical, 
To offer it the show of violence. 

Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew. 

Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing 
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard, 



HAMLET. ^ j 

The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn, { 

Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat j 

Awake the god of day ; and, at his warning, j 

Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, ] 

The extravagant and erring spirit hies 

To his confine : and of the truth herein ' 

This present object made probation. 

Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. 
Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes I 

Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, ; 

This bird of dawning singeth all night long : 
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad ; 
The nights are wholesome ; then no planets stiike. 
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to harm. 
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. 

Hor. So have I heard, and do in part believe it. 
But. look, the morn, in russet mantle clad. 
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill : 
Break we our watch up ; and, by my ad\ice, 
Let us impart what we have seen to-night 
Unto young Hamlet : for, upon my life. 
This spirit, dumb to us, \\-ill speak to him : 
Do you consent v\'e shall acquaint him with it, 
As needful in our loves, fitting our duty ? 

Mar. Let's dot, I pray ; and I this morning know 
Where we shall find him most convenient. [Exeunt 

SCENE IL — The same. A Room of State in tlie same. 

Enter the King, Queen, Hamlet, PoLONirs, Laertes, Lords, and 
x\ttendants. 

King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death 
The memory be green ; and that it us befitted 
To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom 
To be contracted in one brow of woe ; 
Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature, 
That we with wisest sorrow think on himx. 
Together with remembrance of ourselves. 
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen, 
The imperial jointress of this warlike state, 
Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy, — 
Taken to wife : nor have we herein barr'd 
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone 
With this affair along : — For all, our thanks. 
x\nd now, Laertes, what's the news with you ? 
You told us of some suit ? What is't, Laertes ? || 

Laertes. My dread lord, [ij 

Your leave and favor to return to France; .j 



I 



e SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

From whence though willingly I came to Denmark, 
To show my duty in your coronation ; 
Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, 
My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France, 
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. ^ , . ^ 
King. Have you your father's leave ? What says Polonius ? 
Ful He hath, my lord, — 
I do beseech you, give him leave to go. 

King. Take thy lair hour, Laertes ; time be thine, 
And thv best graces : spend it at thy will.— 

But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, 

Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kmd. [Aside, 
King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you ? 
Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too much i' the sun. 
Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted color off, 
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. 
Do not, for ever, with thy vailed lids 
Seek for thy noble father in the dust : 
Thou know'st, 'tis common ; all that live, must die, 
Passing through nature to eternity. 
Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. 
Queen. If it be, 

Why seems it so particular with thee ? 

Ham. Seems, madam ! nay, it is ; I know not seems. 
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 
Nor customary suits of solemn black, 
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath, 
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, 
Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage. 
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief. 
That can denote me truly : These, indeed, seem. 
For they are actions that a man might play : 
But I have that within, which passeth show ; 
These, but the trappings and the suits of woe. 

King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, 
To give these mourning duties to your father : 
But, you must know, your father lost a .''ather ; 
That father lost, lost his ; and the survivor bound, 
In filial obligation, for some term 
To do obsequious sorrow : But to persever 
In obstinate condolement, is a course 
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief: 
It show^s a w^ill most incorrect to heaven ; 
A heart unfortified, or mind impatient : ^ 
An understanding simple and unschool'd : 
For what, we know, must be ; and is as common 
As any of the most vulgar thing to sense. 
Why should we, in our peevish opposition, 
Take it to heart ? Fye ! 'tis a fault to heaven. 



TAMLET. ^ 

We pray you, throw to earth 
This unprevaihng woe ; and think of us 
As of a father : for let the world take note, 
You are the most immediate to our throne ; 
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. 

Queen. Let not tliy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet; 
I pray thee stay with us ; go not to Wittenberg. 

Htim. T shall in all my best obey you, madam. 

King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply ; 
Be as ourself in Denmark. — Madam, come ; 
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet 
Sits smiUng to my heart : in grace whereof. 
No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day, 
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell ; 
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away. 

[Exeunt KrxG, Queex, Lords, cf-c, Polonius, and Laertes. 

Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, 
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew ! 
Or that the Everlasting had not flx'd 
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter ! 
How wearj^ stale, flat, and unprofitable 
Seem to me all the usee of this world ! 
Fye on't ! O fye ! 'tis an unw^eeded garden, 
That grows to seed ; things rank, and gross in nature. 
Possess it merely. That it should come to this ! 
But two months dead ! — nay, not so much, not two ; 
So excellent a king ; that was, to this, 
Hyperion to a sat}T : so loving to my mother. 
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven 
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth ! 
Must I remember ? And yet, within a mionth, — 
Let me not think on't ; — Frailty, thy name is woman ! — 
A little month ; or ere those shoes were old, 
With which she follow'd my poor father's body. 
Like Niobe, all tears ; — why she, even she, — 
O heaven ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason. 
Would have mourn'd longer, — married with my uncle, 
My father's brother ; but no more like my father. 
Than I to Hercules : 
It is not, nor it cannot come to. good ; 
But break, my heart ; for I must hold my tongue ! 

Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and Marcellus. 

Hor. Hail to your lordship ! 

Ham. I am glad to see you well : 

Horatio, — or I do forget myself. 

Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. 
Ham. Sir, my good friend ; I'll change that naxiie uith you. 



8 SHAKSPEAKIAN KEADEE, 

And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio ? — 
Marcellus ? 

Mar. My good lord. 

Ham. I am very glad to see you ; good even, sir, — 
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg ? 

Hot. a truant disposition, good my lord. 

Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so ; 
Nor shall you do mine ear that \iolence, 
To make it truster of your own report 
Against yourself : I know, you are no truant. 
But what is your affair in Elsinore ? 
We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart. 

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral. 

Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student ; 
I think, it was to see my mother's wedding. ^ 

Hor. Indeed, my lord, it folio w'd hard upon. 

Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio ! the funeral bak'd meats 
Did coldlv furnish forth the marriage tables. 
'Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven 
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio .' — 
My father, — Methinks, I see my father. 

Hor. Where, 

My lord ? 

Ha77i. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 

Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king. 

Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, 
I shall not look upon his Hke again. 

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. 
• Ham. Saw! who? 

Hor. My lord, the king your father. 

Ham. The king my father ! 

Hor. Season your admiration for a while 
With an attent ear ; till I may deliver. 
Upon the vvitness of these gentlemen. 
This marvel to you. 

Hain. For heaven's love, let me hear. 

Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, 
Marcellus and Bernardo, on -their watch, 
In the dead waist and middle of the night. 
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, 
Armed at point, exactly, cap-a-pe, 
Appears before them, and, with solemn march. 
Goes slow and stately by them : thrice he walk'd, 
By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes, 
Within his truncheon's length ; whilst they, distill'd 
Almost to jelly with the act of fear, 
Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me 
In dreadful secrecy impart they did ; 



HAMLET. 

And I with them, the third night kept the watch : 
Where, as they had dehver'd, both in time, 
Form of the thing, each word made true and good, 
The apparition comes : I knew your father ; 
These hands are not more hke. 

Ham. But where was this ? 

Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd. 

Ham. Did you not speak to it ? 

Hor. My lord, I did : 

But answer made it none : yet once, methought, 
It Hfted up its head, and did address 
Itself to motion, like as it would speak : 
But, even then, the morning cock crew loud ; 
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away. 
And vanished from our sight. 

Ham. 'Tis very strange. 

Hor. As I do live, my honor'd lord, 'tis true ; 
And we did think it writ dow^n in our duty, 
To let you know" of it. 

Haw.. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. 
Hold you the watch to-night ? 

All. We do, my lord. 

Ham. Arm'd.say you ? 

All. Arm'd, my lord. 

Ham. From top to toe ? 

All. My lord, from head to foot. 

Ham. Then saw you not 

His face. 

Hor. O, yes, my lord ; he wore his beaver up. 

Ham. What, look'd he frowningly ? 

Hor. A countenance more 

In sorrow than in anger. 

Ham. Pale, or red ? 

Hor. Nay, veiy pale. 

Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you ? 

Hor. Most constantly. 

Ham. I would, T had been there. 

Hor. It would have much amaz'd you. 

Ham. Verv like, 

Very Hke : Stay'd it long ? 

Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. 

Ham. His beard was grizzl'd ? no ? 

Hor. It w^as, as I have seen it in his Ufe, 
A sable silver'd. 

Ham. I will watch to-night ; 

Perchance, 'twall walk again. 

Hor. I warrant, it will. 

Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, 
I'll speak to it. though hell itself should gape, 



10 SHAKSPEAKIAN READER. 

And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, 
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight, 
Let it be tenable in your silence still ; 
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night. 
Give it an understanding, but no tongue ; 
I will requite your loves : So, fare you well : 
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, 
I'll visit you. 

AIL Our duty to your honor. 

Ham. Your loves, as mine to you : Farewell. 

[Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo. 
My father's spirit in arms ! all is not well ; 
I doubt some foul play : 'would, the night were come ! 
Till then sit still, my soul : Foul deeds will rise, 
Though all the earth o'erwhelms them, to men's eyes. 

[Exit 

SCENE III.— A Room in Polonius' House. 
Enter Laertes and Ophelia. 

Laer. My necessaries are embark'd ; farewell : 
And, sister, as the winds give benefit, 
Pray let me hear from you. 

Opii. Do you doubt that ? 

Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favor, 
Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood ; 
For he himself is subject to his birth : 
He may not, as unvalued persons do, 
Carve for himself: 

Then weigh what loss your honor may sustain. 
If with too credent ear you list his songs. 
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister ; 
And keep you in the rear of your affection^ 
Out of the shot and danger of desire ; 
The chariest maid is prodigal enough. 
If she unmask her beauty to the moon. 

Oph. I shall the eflTect of this good lesson keep, 
As watchman to my heart : But, good my brother, 
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do. 
Show me the steep and thorny w^ay to heaven ; 
Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, 
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, 
And recks not his own rede. 

Laer. O fear me not. 

I stay too long ; — But here my father comes. 

Enter Polonius. 

Pol. Yet here, Laertes ! aboard, aboard, for shame ; 
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail. 



HAMLET. 11 

And you are staid for : There, my blessing with you ! 

[L(iyi?ig his hand on Laertes' head. 
And these few precepts in thy memory 
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, 
Xor any unproportion'd thought his act. 
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried. 
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel ; 
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
Of each new-hatch'd. uniiedg'd comrade. Beware 
Of entrance to a quarrel : but, being in, 
Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee. 
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice : 
Take eacii man's censure, but resen'e thy judgment. 
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 
But not expressed in fancy : rich, not gaudy : 
For the apparel oft proclaimis the man ; 
And they in France, of the best rank and station, 
Are most select and generous, chief in that. 
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be : 
For loan oft loses both itself and friend : 
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
This above all, — To thine ownself be true ; 
And it must follow, as the night the day, 
Thou canst not then be false to any man. 
Farewell ; my blessing season this in thee ! 

Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, mv lord. 

Pol The time invites you ; go, your ser^-auts tend. 

Laj'r. Farewell, Ophelia : and remember well 
What I have said to you. 

Oph. 'Tis in my memor}^ iock'd, 

And you yourself shall keep the key of it. 

Laer. Farewell. 



SCENE TV, — The Platform. 
Enter Ha-Aelet, Horatio, aiid Marcellus. 

Ham. The air bites shrewdly ; it is \er\ cold. 

Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air. 

Ham. What hour now ? 

Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve. 

Mar. No, it is struck. 

Hor. Indeed ? I heard it not ; then it draws near the season. 
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. 

\_A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off, within. 
What does this mean, my lord ? 

Ha?n. The king doth vrake to-night, and takes his rouse. 
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish dowm. 



12 SHAKSPEARIAN HEADER. 

The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out 
The triumph of his pledge. 

Hor. Is it a custom ? 

Ham. Ay, marry, is't : 
But to my mind, — though I am native here, 
And to the manner born, — it is a custom 
More honor'd in the breach, than the observance. 

Enter Ghost. 

Hot. Look, my lord, it comes ! 

Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us !— 
Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd. 
Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, 
Be thy intents wicked, or charitable. 
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, 
That I will speak to thee ; I'll call thee Hamlet, 
King, father, royal Dane : O, answer me : 
Let me not burst in ignorance ! but tell. 
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death. 
Have burst their cerements ! w^hy the sepulchre, 
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd. 
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws, 
To cast thee up again ! What may this mean, 
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, 
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon. 
Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature, 
So horribly to shake our disposition. 
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ? 
Say why is this ? wherefore ? what should we do ? 

Hor. It beckons you to go away with it , 
As if it some impartment did desire 
To you alone. 

Mar. Look, with what courteous action 

It waves you to a more removed ground : 
But do not go with it. 

Hor. No, by no means. 

Ham. It will not speak ; then I will follow it. 

Hor. Do not, my lord. 

Ham. Why, what should be the fear ? 

I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; 
And, for my soul, what can it do to that, 
ijeing a thing immortal as itself? 
It waves me forth again ; — I'll follow it. 

Hor. What, if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, 
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff, 
That beetles o'er his base into the sea ? 
And there assum-e some other horrible form. 
And draw you into madness ? 



HAMLET. 13 

Ham. It waves me still :— 

Gro on. I'll follow thee. 

Mar. You shall not go, my lord. 

Ham. Hold off your hands. 

Hor. Be rui'd, you shall not go. 

Ham. My fate cries out. 

And makes each petty artery in this body 
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. — [Ghost beckons. 

Still am I cali'd ; — imhand me, gentlemen : — 

[Breaking from them. 
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me : — 
I say, away : — Go on, I'll follow thee. 

[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet. 

SCENE v.— A more remote Part of the Platform. 
Re-enter Ghost and Haivilet. 

Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me ? speak, I'll go no further. 

Ghost, Mark me. 

Ham. I will. 

Ghost. My hour is almost come, 

When I to sulphurous and tonnenting flames 
Must render up myself. 

Ham. Alas, poor ghost ! 

Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thv serious hearing 
To what I shall unfold. 

Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear. 

Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. 

Ha?n. What? 

Ghost. I am thy father's spirit ; 
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night, 
And, for the day confin'd to fast in fires, 
Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, 
Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid 
To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 
Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood ; 
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres ; 
Thy knotted and combined locks to part, 

And each particular hair to stand on end, |i 

Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : 
But this eternal blazon must not be 
To ears of flesh and blood : — List, list, O list ! — 
If thou didst ever thy dear father love, 

Ham. O heaven ! 

Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder. 

Ha?'n. Murder ? 

Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is ; 
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. 



t 



I 



■i 



m 



14 SHAKSFEAKIAN READER. 

Ham. Haste me to know it ; that I, with wings as swift 
As meditation, or the thoughts of love, 
Mdy sweep to my revenge. 

Ghust. I find thee apt ; 

And duller should'st thou be than the fat weed 
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, 
Would'st thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear : 
'Tis given out, that sleeping in mine orchard, 
A serpent stung me ; so the whole ear of Denmark 
Is by a forged process of my death 
Rankly abus'd : but know, thou noble youth, 
The serpent that did sting thy father's life, 
Now wears his crown. 

Ham. O, my prophetic soul ! my uncle ! 

Ghost. Ay, — 
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts, 
He won to his shameful love 
The will of my most seeming virtuous queen : 
O, Hamlet, what a falling-ofF was there ! 
From me, whose love was of that dignity. 
That it went hand in hand even vvith the vow 
I made to her in marriage ; and to decline 
Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor 
To those of mine ! 

But, soft ! methinks, I scent the morning air ; 
Brief let me be : — Sleeping within mine orchard, 
My custom always of the afternoon, 
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole. 
With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial. 
And in the porches of mine ears did pour 
The leperous distilment ; whose eifect 
Holds such an enmity with blood of man. 
That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through 
The natural gates and alleys of the body ; 
And, with a sudden vigor, it doth posset 
And curd, like eager droppings into milk, 
The thin and wholesome blood : so did it mine ; 
Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand. 
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd : 
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin. 
No reckoning made, but sent to my account 
With all my imperfections on my head. 

Ham. O, horrible ! O, horrible ! most horrible ! 

Ghost. If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not ; 
But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act, 
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive 
Against thy mother aught ; leave her to heaven, 
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, 
To goad and stinsf her. Fare thee well at once ! 



HA3ILET. 15 

The glow-worm shows the matin to be near. 

And "gins to pale hi? ineffectual tire : 

Adieu, adieu, adieu I remember me. [Exit. 

Ham. Hold, hold, my heart : 
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, 
But bear me stiffly up I — Remember thee ? 
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memor}- holds a seat 
In this distracted globe. Remember thee ? 
Yea. from the table of my memory- 
I'll wipe away all triWal fond records, 
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past 
That youth and observation copied there ; 
And thy commandment all alone shall hve 
Within the book and volume of my brain, 
Unmix'd with baser matter : yes, by heaven. 
I have sworn't. 

Hor. [Wi(hin.] Mv lord, mv lord. 

Mar. [Within.] Lord Hamlet, 

Hor. [Within.] Heaven secure him I 

Ham. So be it. 

Mar. [Within.] Illo, ho, ho. my lord I 

Ha?n. Hillo, ho, ho, boy ! come*, bird, come. 

Enter Horatio a?2d 3Iarcellus. 

Mar. How is't, my noble lord ? 

Hor. ' What news, my lord ? 

Ha?n. O, wonderful ! 

Hor. Good my lord, tell it. 

Ha-m. ' No ; 

You will reveal it. 

Hor. Not I. my lord, by heaven. 

->/ar. * ' Xor I, my lord. 

Ham.^ How say you then ; would heart of man once tliink it ?-^ 
But you'll be secret, 

Hor. Mar. ^ Ay, by heaven, my lord. 

Ha?n. There's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all Denmark, 
But he's an arrant knave. 

Hor. There needs no o-host. mv lord, come from the grrave, 
To tell us this. ^ > . - 

Ham. Why. right ; you are in the right : 

And so. vdthout more circumst'.mce at all, 
I hold it fit that we shake hands, and part : 
You, as your business, and desire, shall point you ; — 
For ever}" man hath business, and desire. 
Such as it is, — and for my own poor part, 
Look you, I will go pray. 

Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, my lord. 

Ham. I am sorry they offend you, heartily ; yes, 
'Faith, heartilv. 



d 



16 SHAKSPEAKIAN HEADER. 

Hor. There's no offence, my lord. 

Ham. Yes, by St. Patrick, but there is, Horatio, 
And much offence too. Touching this vision here, — 
It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you ; 
For your desire to know what is between us, 
O'er-master it as you may. And now, good friends, 
As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers. 
Give me one poor request. 

Hor. What is't, my lord ? 

We will. 

Ham. Never make known what you have seen to-night. 

Hor. Mar. My lord, we will not. 

Ham. Nay, but swear't 

Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. 

Ham. Never to speak of this that you have seen, 
Svv-ear by my sword. 

Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 

Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous strange ! 

Ha?n. And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. 
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. 

But come ; 

Here, as before, never, so help you mercy ! 

How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself, 

As I, perchance, hereafter, shall think meet 

To put an antic disposition on. — 

That you, at such times seeing me, never shall 

With arms encumber'd thus, or this head-shake, 

Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase. 

As, Well^ tvell, ive knoiv ; — or, We could, and ifioe icould ; — or, 

If ice list to speak ; — or. There he^ an if they might ; — 

Or such ambiguous giving out, to note 

That you know aught of me : — This do you swear, 

So grace and mercy at your most need help you ! 

Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 

Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit ! So, gentlemen, 
With all my love I do commend me to you : 
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is 
May do, to express his love and friending to you, 
God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together ; 
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. 
The time is out of joint ; — O cursed spite ! 
That ever I was born to set it right ! 
Nay, come, let's go together. [Exeunt, 



HAMLET. 17 

ACT II. 

SCENE I. 

Hamlet has now [)Ut on his coanterfeit madness. He visits ^);'helia in this *' antic 
guise," and the affrighted maiden narrates to her father the circumstances attending 
nis visit. 

Ophelia. — Poloxk's. 

Pol. How now, Ophelia ? what's the matter ? 

OpJi. O, my lord, my lord, I have been so aifrighted ! 

Pol. With what, in the name of heaven. 

Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, 
Lord Hamlet, — with his doublet all imbrac'd ; 
Pale as his shirt ; his knees knocking each other ; 
He comes before me. 

Pol Mad for thy love ? 

OpJi. My lord, I do not know ; 

But. truly. I do fear it. 

Pol. ' What said he ? 

Opli. He took me by the wr'i^t. and held me hard ; 
Then goes he to the length of all his arm ; 
And. with his other hand thus o'er his brow, 
He falls to such perusal of my face, 
As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so ; 
At last. — A little shaking of mine arm, 
And thrice his head thus waving up and down, — 
He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound. 
As it did seem to shatter all his bulk. 
And end his being : That done, he lets me go : 
And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd. 
He seem^'d to find his way without his eyes ; 
For out o'doors he went without their helps, 
And, to the last, bended their hght on me. 

Pol. Come, go \\\\h me ; I \\\i\ go seek the king. 
This is the very ecstasy of love ; 
What, have you given him any hard words of late ? 

Oph. Xo, my good lord ; but, as you did conmiand, 
I did repel his letters, and denied 
His access to me. 

Pol. That hath made him mad. 

Come, go we to the king : 

This must be known ; which, being kept close, might move 
More grief to hide, than hate to utter love. [Exeunt. 

SCENE XL— A Room in the Castle. 
Enter Krs'G, Queen. Rosencraxtz. Guilde>:sterx, aijd Attendants. 

King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz. and Guildenstern ! 
Moreover that we much did long to see you. 



IS SHAKSPEAKIAN READER. 

The need, we have to use you, did provoke 

Oar hasty sending. Something have you heard 

Of Hamlet's transformation ; so I call it, 

Since not the exterior nor the inward man 

Resembles that it was : What it should be, 

More than his father's death, that thus hath put him 

So much from the understanding of himself, 

1 cannot dream of: I entreat you both. 

That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court 

Some'little time : so by your companies ^ 

To draw him on to pleasures ; and to gather, 

Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus, 

That, open'd"^ lies within our remedy. 

Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk d ot you ; 

And, sure I am, two men there are not living. 

To vvhom he more adheres. If it Vvlll please you 

So to expend your time with us a while. 

Your visitation shall receive such thanks 

As fits a king's remembrance. 

jlr)S. Both your majesties 

Mi2:bt, by the sovereign power you have of us, 

Put your dread pleasures more into command 

Than to entreaty. 

Guil. But w^e both obey ; 

And here give up ourselves, in the full bent. 

To lay our service freely at your feet, 

To be commanded. 

King, Thanks, Rosencrantz, and gentle Guildenstern. 
Queen. And 1 beseech you instantly to visit 

My too much changed son. — Go, some of you, 

And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and some Attendants, 

Enter Polonius. 

Pol. I now do think, (or else this brain of mine 
Hunts not the trail of policy so sure 
As it hath us'd to do,) that I have found 
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. 

King. O, speak of that ; that do I long to hear. 

Pol My liege, and madam, to expostulate 
What majesty should be, what duty is, 
Why day is day, night, night, and time is time. 
Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time. 
Therefore, — since brevity is the soul of wit. 
And tcdiousness the limbs and outward flourishes, — 
I will be brief: Your noble son is mad : 
Mad call T it : for, to define true madness, 
What is't, but to be nothing else but mad : 
But let that go. 



HAMLET. 19 

Queen. More matter, with less art. 

Pol. Macicim, I swear, 1 use no art at all. 
That he is mad, 'tis true, 'tis pity ; 
And pity tis, 'tis true : a fooUsh hgure ; 
But farewell it, for I will use no art. 
Mad let us grant hiui then : and now remains, 
That we find out the cause of this etfect ; 
Or. rather say, the cause of this defect ; 
For this efFict. defective, comes bv cause ; 
Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. 
Perpend. 

I have a daughter ; have, while she is mine ; 
Who, in her duty and obedience, mark. 
Hath given me this : Now gather, and surmise. 

— To the celestial and my souVs idol, the most beautified Ophelia, 

That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase ; beautified is a vile phrase ; but 
you shall hear.^ — Thus : — 

In her excellent white bosom, these, &c. — 

Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her ? 

Pol. Good madam, stay awhile ; I will be faithful.— [Reads. 

Doubt thou, the stars are fire ; 

Doubt, that the sun doth move; 
Doubt truth to be a liar ; 
But never doubt, I love. 

O dear Opheha, / am ill at these numbers ; I have not art to 
reckon my groans : but that I love thee best, O most best, believe it. 
Adieu. 

Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst 
, , this machine is to him, Hamlet. 

This, in obedience, hath my daughter shown me : 
And more above, hath his solicitings. 
As they fell out by time, by means, and place, 
All given to mine ear. 

Kin^. But how hath she 

Receiv'd his love ? 

^^l' What do you think of me ? 

King. As of a man faithful and honorable. 

Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might vou think, 
When I had seen this hot love on the wing, 
(As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that, 
Before my daughter told me,) \vhat might you. 
Or my dear majesty your queen here, think, 
If I had play'd the desk, or table-book ; 
Or given my heart a working, mute and dumb, 
Or look'd upon this love with idle sight ; 
What might you think ? no, I went round to work, 
And my young mistress thus did I bespeak ; 
Lord Hamlet is a prince out of thy sphere; 
This 7nust not be : and then I precepts gave her, 



20 SllAKSrEAKlA.N KilAlJEli. 

That she should lock herself from his resort, 
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. 
Which done, she took the fruits of my advice, 
And he, repulsed, (a short tale to make,) 
Fell into a sadness ; then into a fast ; 
Thence to a watch ; thence into a weakness ; 
Thence to a lightness : and, by this declension, 
Into the madness wherein now he raves, 
And all we mourn for. 

King. Do you think, 'tis this ? 

Queen. It may be, very likely. 

Pol. Hath there been such a time, (I'd fain know that,) 
That I have positively said, ' Tis so, 
When it prov'd otherwise ? 

King. Not that I know. 

Pol. Take this from this, if this be otherwise : 

[Pointing to his head and shoulder. 
If circumstances lead me, I will find 
W^here truth is hid, though it w^ere hid indeed 
Within the centre. 

King. How may we try it further ? 

Pol. You kno\v, sometimes he walks for hours together, 
Here in the lobby. 

Queeji. So he does, indeed. 

Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him : 
Be you and I behind an arras then ; 
Mark the encounter ; if he love her not, 
And be not from his reason fallen thereon, 
Let me be no assistant for a state, 
But keep a farm, and carters. 

King. We will try it. 

Enter Hamlet, reading. 

Queen. But, look, where sadly the poor wretch comes reading. 

Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away ; 
I'll board him presently : — O, give me leave. — 

[Exeunt King, Queen, and Attendants. 
How does my good lord Hamlet ? 

Ham. Excellent well. 

Pol. Do you know me, my lord ? 

Ham. Excellent well ; you are a fishmonger. 

Pol. Not I, my lord. 

Ham. Then I would you w^ere so honest a man. 

Pol. Honest, my lord ? 

Ham. Ay, sir ; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man 
picked out of ten thousand. 

Pol. That's very true, my lord. 

Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god, 
kissing carrion, Have you a daughter ? 



i 



HAMLET. 21 

Pol. \^As{de.'] Still harping on my daughter : — yet he knew me 
not at first ; he said I \yas a fishmonger : He is far gone, far gone : 
and truly in my youth I suffered much extreniity for loye : very 
near this. Til speak to him again. — What do you read, my lord ? 

Hain. Words, \vords, words ! 

Pol. What is the matter, miy lord ? 

Ham. Between who ? 

Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. 

Ham. Slanders, sir : for the satirical rogue says here, that old 
men have gray beards ; that their faces are wrinkled ; their eyes 
purging thick amber, and plum-tree gum ; and that they have a 
plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams : All of which, 
sir, though I most powerfully and potently beheve, yet I hold it not 
honesty to have it thus set down ; for yourself, sir, shall be as old as 
I am, if, like a crab, you could go backward. 

Pol. Though this be madness, yet there's method in it. \_Aside.'\ 
Will you walk out of the air, my lord ? 

Ham. Into my grave ? 

Pol. Indeed, that is out o' the air. — How pregnant sometimes his 
repUes are ! a happiness that often madness hits on, which reason 
and sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of. I will leave 
him., and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between him and 
my daughter. — My honorable lord, I will most humbly take my 
leave of you. 

Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I \yill more 
willingly part withal ; except my Hfe. except my hfe, except my life. 

Pol. Fare you well, miy lord. 

Ham. These tedious old fools ! 

Enter Rose>*craxtz and GuILDE^'STEE^'. 

Pol. You go to seek the lord Hamlet ; there he is. 

Ros. Heaven save you, sir ! [To Poloxius. 

\^Exit POLONIUS. 

Guil, My honor'd lord I — 

Ham. My excellent good friends ! How dost thou, Guildenstem ? 
Ah. Rosencrantz ! Good lads, how do ye both ? What news ? 

Ros, None, my lord ; but that the world's grown honest. 

Ham. Then is doomsday near : But your news is not true. But 
in the beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsinore ? 

Ros. To \dsit you, my lord : no other occasion. 

Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks ; but I thank 
you. Were you not sent for ? Is it your o\yt\ incHning? Is it a 
free visitation ? Come, come ; deaV justly with me : come, come ; 
nay. speak. 

Guil. \Miat should we say, my lord ? 

Ham. Any thing — but to the purpose. You were sent for ; and 
Jiere is a kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties 
have not craft enough to color : I know, the good king and queen 
have sent for vou. 



22 SHAKSPEAKIAN READER. 

Ros. To what ead, my lord ? 

Ha7n. That you must teach me. But let me conjure you, by the 
rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the 
obligation of our ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a better 
proposer could charge you withal, be even and direct with me, 
whether you were sent for, or no ? 

Ros. What say you? * [To Guildenstern. 

Ham. Nay, then I have an eye of you : [Aside.] — if you love me, 
hold not off. 

Guil. My lord, we were sent for. 

Ham. I will tell you why ; so shall my anticipation prevent your 
discovery, and your secrecy to the king and queen moult no feather. 
I have of late, (but, wherefore, I know not.) lost all my mirth, for- 
gone all custom of exercises : and, indeed, it goes so heavily with my 
disposition, that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a steril 
promontory ; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave 
o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, 
why, it appears no other thing to me, than a foul and pestilent con- 
gregation of vapors. What a piece of work is a man ! How noble 
in reason ! how infinite in faculties ! in form, and moving, how 
express and admirable ! in action, how like an angel ! in apprehen- 
sion, how like a god ! the beauty of the world ! the paragon of 
animals ! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust ? man 
delights not me, nor woman neither ; though, by your smiling, you 
seem to say so. 

Ros. My lord, there is no such stuff in my thoughts. 

Ham. Why did you laugh then, when I said, Maii deligJits not 
me? 

Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten 
entertainment the players shall receive for you : we met them on 
the way ; and hither are they coming, to offer you service. 

Ham. He that plays the king shall be welcome ; his majesty shall 
have tribute of me : the adventurous knight shall use his foil and 
target : the lover shall not sigh gratis ; the hum.orous man shall end 
his part in peace : the clown shall make those laugh, whose lungs 
are tickled o' the sere ; and the lady shall say her mind freely, or the 
blank verse shall halt for 't. — What players are they ? 

Ros. Even those you were wont to take such delight in, the tra- 
gedians of the city. 

Ha?n. How chances it, they travel ? their residence, both in repu- 
tation and profit, was better both ways. 

Ros. I think, their inhibition comes by the means of the late 
innovation. 

Ha?n. Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in 
the city ? Are they so followed ? 

Ros. No, indeed, they are not. 

Ham. It is not very strange : for my uncle is king of Denmark ; 
and those, that would make mouths at him while my father lived, 
give twenty, fortv, fiftv, an hundred ducats a-pieco. for his picture in 



HAMLET. 23 

little. There is something in this more than natural, if philosophy 
could find it out. [Flourish of trumpets within. 

Guil. There are the players. 

Him. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands. You 
are welcome : but my uncle-father, and aunt-mother, are deceived. 

Guil. In what, my dear lord ? 

Him. I am but mad north-northwest : when the wind is southerly 
I know a hawk from a handsaw. 

Enter Polonius. 

Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen ! 

Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern, — and you too ; — at each ear a hearer ; 
that great baby, you see there, is not yet out of his swaddling clothes. 

Ros. Happily, he's the second tune come to them ; for, they say, 
an old man is twice a child. 

Him. I will prophesy, he comes to tell me of the players ; mark 
it. — You say right, sir : o' Monday morning ; 'twas then, indeed. 

Pol. My lord, I have new^s to tell you. 

Ham. My lord, I have new^s to tell you. When Roscius was an 
actor in Rome. 

Pol. The actors are com.e hither, my lord. 

Ham. Buz, buz ! 

Pol. Upon my honor.- 



Ham. Then came each actor on his ass,- 



Pol. The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, 
history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-histori- 
cal, tragical-comical, historical-pastoral, scene individable, or poem 
unUmited : Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too hght. For 
the law of writ and the liberty, these are the only men. 

Him. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, — what a treasure hadst thou ! 

Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord ? 

Ham. Why — One fair daughter, and no more. 
The which he loved -passing well. 

Pol. Still on my daughter. [Aside, 

Ham. Am not I i' the right, old Jephthah ? 

Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter, that I 
love passing well. 

Ham. Nay, that follows not. 

Pol. What follows then, my lord ? 

Ham. Why, As hy lot, God wot, and then, you know, It came to 
pass, As most like it was, — The first row of the pious chanson will 
show you more ; for look, my abridgment cdmes. 

The Players enter, and at Hamlet's request, the first player recites a speech. 

Him. 'Tis well ; I'll have thee speak out the rest of this soon. — 
Good my lord, will you see the players w^ell bestowed ? Do you 
hear, let them be well used ; for they are the abstract, and brief 
chronicles, of the time : After your death you were better have a 
bad epitaph, than their ill report while you hve. 

PoL My lord. I will use them according to their desert. 



24 SHAKSPEAKIA.N i^EADEK. 

Ham. Much better : Use every man after his desert, and who 
shall 'scape whipping ! Use them after your own honor and dig- 
nity : The less they deserve the more merit is in your bounty. Take 
them in. 

Pol. Come, sirs. 

\^Exit PoLONius loitli some of the Players. 

Ham.. Follow him, friends : we'll hear a play tc-morrow. — Dost 
thou hear me, old friend ; can you play the murder of Gonzago ? 

\st Play. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. We'll have it to-morrow night. You could, for a need, 
study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines, which I would set 
down, and insert in't ? could you not ? 

\st Play. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. Very well, — follow^ that lord ; and look you mock him not. 
l^Exit Player.] My good friends, [To 'Kos. and Gj]i-l.~\ Fll leave 
you till night : you are welcome to Elsinore. 

Ros. Good my lord. 

[Eoceu7it RosENCRANTz ami Guildenstern. 

Ham. Ay, so, heaven be wi' you : — Now I am alone. 
O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! 
Is it not monstrous, that this player here, 
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion. 
Could force his soul so to his own conceit. 
That from her working all his visage w^ann'd ; 
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect, 
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
With forms to his conceit ? and all for nothing ! 
For Hecuba ! 

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 
That he should weep for her ? What would he do, 
Had he the motive and the cue for passion. 
That I have ? He would drown the stage with tears, 
And cleave the general ear, with horrid speech ; 
Make mad the guilty, and appal the free. 
Confound the ignorant ; and amaze, indeed, 
The very faculties of eyes and ears. 
Yet I, 

A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, 
Like John a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, 
And can say nothing ; no, not for a king, 
Upon whose property, and most dear life, 
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward ? 
Who calls me villain ? breaks my pate across ? 
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face ? 
Tweaks me by the nose ? gives me the lie i' tlie throat, 
As deep as to the lungs ? Who does me this ? 
Ha! 

Why, I should take it : for it cannot be. 
But I am pigeon-livered and lack gall, 



HAMLET. 25 

To make oppression bitter ; or, ere this, 

I should have fatted all the region kites 

With this slave's offal : 

Why, what an ass am I ? This is most brave ; 

Fye upont ,' foh ! About my brains ! Humph ! I have heard, 

That guilty creatures sitting at a play, 

Have by the very cunning of the scene 

Been struck so to the soul, that presently 

They have proclaim'd their malefactions ; 

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak 

With most miraculous organ. Til have these players 

Play something like the murder of my father, 

Before mine uncle : Fll observe his looks ; 

rii tent him to the quick ; if he do blench, 

I know my course. The spirit tliat I have seen, 

May be a devil : and the devil hath power 

To assume a pleasing shape ; yea, and, perhaps. 

Out of my weakness, and my melancholy, 

(As he is very potent \\ith. such spirits,) 

Abuses me to damn me : Fll have grounds 

More relative than this : the play's the thing, 

Wherein Fll catch the conscience of the kmg. [Exit 



ACT III. 

SCENE L— A Room in the Castle, 
Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, and 

GuiLDENSTERN. 

King. And can you, by no drift of conference 
Get from him, why he puts on this confusion ; 
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet 
With turbulent and dangerous lunacv ? 

Ros. He does confess, he feels himseJf distracted ; 
But from what cause he will by no means speak. 

Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded ; 
But, with a crafty madness keeps aloof. 
When we would bring him on to some confession 
Of his true state. 

Queen. Did he receive you well 1 

Ros. Most hke a gentleman. 

Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition. 

Ros. Niggard of question ; but, of our demands, 
Most free in his reply. 

Queen. Did you assay him •;> 

I To any pastime ? 

3 



2Q SHAKSPEAKIAN READEE. 

Ros Madam, it so fell out, that certain players 
W^o'er^'ught on the way : of these we told h,m ; 
And there did seem in him a kmd ot joy 
To hear of it : They are about the court ; 
And, as I think, they have already order 
This night to play before him. ,^.^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ ^ 

And^he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties, 

^"i^S^WiufaS mrhea't; and it doth much content me 

To hear him so inchn'd. 

Good gentlemen, give him a /urther edge 

And drive Ms purpose on to these delights. 

Ros. We shall, my loi^.^^^^^^^ Kosencrantz and GmLDENSTEKN. 
, ^ Sweet Gertrude, leave us too : 

Fotwf have closely sent for Hamlet hither : 

That he, as 'twere by accident, may here 

Affront Ophelia : 

Her father, and myself (lawful espial^,) 

Wm so bestow ourselves, that, seeing, unseen, 

We may of their encounter frankly judge : 

And gather bv him, as he is behav d, 

If 't be the affliction of his love or no, 

Th«,h-l».uff.r.r«r. ..... 

And, for your part, Ophelia, I do wish. 

That your good beauties be the happy cause 

irffletl wildness ; so shall I hope your virtues 

Will brine- him to his wonted way again. 

To both four honors, ^^j^,^^^ j ^^^.h it may. [£x,V QtrEEN. 

%: Ophelia, walk you her^:_G™. so Pl^^ 
We will bestow ourselves :— Head on tms uook , l 

That show of such an exercise may color 

iour loneliness.-We are oft to blame m this -- 

'Tis too much prov'd, that, with devotion . vi.age. 

And pious action, we do sugar o er 

The devil himself. . , 

Kincr O, 'tis too true ! how smar. 

A lash'that speech doth give my conscience ! 

^ Pol I hea? him coming ; let's w.hdr^w,^"^^ b^d^ ^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^ 

Enter Hamlet. 
Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the question :- 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to sutler 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune , 



HAMLET. 27 

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 

And, by opposing, end them ?— To die,— to sleep,— 

-^o more ;— and, by a sleep, to sav we end 

The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks 

1 hat flesh is heir to,— 'tis a consummation 

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die ;— to sleep :— 

To sleep ! perchance to dream ;— ay, there's the rub, 

l* or m that sleep of death what dreams may come 

When we have shuflled off this mortal coil, 

Must give us pause : there's the respect, 

Ihat makes calamity of so long life : 

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time 

i he oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, 

Ihe pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, 

ihe msolence of office, and the spurns 

i hat patient merit of the unworthy takes, 

VVhen he himself might his quietus make 

With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear, 

lo groan and sweat under a weary Hfe ; / 

But that the dread of something after death,— 

ihe undiscover'd country, from whose bourn 
J^o traveller returns,— puzzles the will ; 
And makes us rather bear those ills we have 

Ihan fly to others that we know not of? 
1 hus conscience does make cowards of us all • 
And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought • 
And enterprises of great pith and moment, ' 
With this regard, their currents turn awry. 
And lose the name of action.— Soft you, now ! 
The fair Ophelia ;— Nymph, in thy orisons 
Be all my sins remember'd. 
„ ^P]' ^ Good my lord, 

How does your honor for this many a day ? 
Ham. I humbly thank you ; well. 
Oph My lord, I have remembrances of yours 
That 1 have longed long to re-deliver ; 
I pray you, now receive them. 

J ^™' No, not I; 

1 never gave you aught. 

Qph.^ My honor'd lord, you know right well, you did • 
And, vvith them, words of so sweet breath compos'd 
As made the things more rich : their perfume lost 
lake these again ; for to the noble mind. 
Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind 
i here, my lord. 

Hamlet falls into a wild extravagance of speech, and then exits. 



28 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! 
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword : 
The expectancy and rose of the fair state, 
The glass of fashion, and the mould of form, 
The observ'd of all observers ! quite, quite down ! 
And I, of hidies most deject and wretched, 
That suck'd the honey of his music vows, 
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, 
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh ; 
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth, 
Blasted with ecstasy : O, woe is me ! 
To have seen what I have seen, see what I see ! 

Re-enter King and Polonius. 

King. Love I his affections do not that way tend ; 
Nor w4iat he spake, though it lack'd form a little. 
Was not like madness. There's something in his soul, 
O'er which his melancholy sits on brood : 
And, I do doubt, the hatch, and the disclose, 
Will be some danger : Which for to prevent, 
I have, in quick determination. 
Thus set it down ; He shall with speed to England 
. For the demand of our neglected tribute : 
Haply, the seas, and countries different, 
With variable objects, shall expel 
This something-settled matter in his heart ; 
Whereon his brains still beating, puts him thus 
From fashion of himself. What think you on't ? 

Pol. It shall do well ; but yet I do believe. 
The origin and commencement of his grief 
Sprung from neglected love. — How now, Ophelia ? 
You need not tell us what lord Hamlet said ; 
We heard it all. — My lord, do as you please ; 
But, if you hold it fit, after the play, 
Ijet his queen mother all alone entreat him 
To show his grief ; let her be round with him ; 
And I'll be plac'd, so please you, in the ear 
Of all their conference : If she find him not, 
To England send him : or confine him, w'here 
Your wisdom best shall tliink. 

King. It shall be so : 

Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE II. — A Hall in the same. 

Enter Hamlet, and certain Players. 

Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, 
trippingly on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as many of our play- 



HAMLET. 29 

ers do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw 
the air too much with your hand, thus ; but use all gently : for in 
the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your 
passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance, that may give it 
smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious peri- 
wig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the 
ears of the groundlings ; w^ho, for the most part are capable of no- 
thing but inexplicable dumb shows, and noise : I would have such a 
fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant ; it out-he rods Herod : pray 
you, avoid it. 

1 St Play. T warrant, your honor. 

Ham. Be not too tame neither, but let your owm discretion be 
your tutor : suit the action to the word, the word to the action ; with 
this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature ; 
for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, 
both at the first, and now, was, and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror 
up to nature ; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image,, 
and the very age and body of the time, his form and pressure. Now ' 
this, overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, 
cannot but make the judicious grieve ; the censure of which one, 
must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, 
there be players, that I have seen play, — and heard others praise, 
and that highly, — not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the 
accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, Pagan, nor man, have 
BO strutted, and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's 
journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated 
humanity so abominably. 

1st Play. I hope, we have reformed that indifferently with us. 

Ham. O, reform it altogether. And let those, that play your 
clowns, speak no more than is set down for them ; for there be of 
them, that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren 
spectators to laugh too ; though, in the mean time, some necessary 
question of the play be then to be considered : that's villanous ; and 
shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go, make 
you ready [Exeunt Players. 

Ham. What, ho ; Horatio ! 

Enter Horatio. 

Hor. Here, sweet lord, at your service. 

Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man 
As e'er my conversation cop'd withal. 

Hor. O, my dear lord, — 

Ham. Nay, do not think I flatter : 

For what advancement may I hope from thee. 
That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits. 
To feed and clothe thee ? Why should the poor be flatter'd ? 
No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp ; 
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee. 
Where thrift may follow faw^ni ng. Dost thou hear ? 



30 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice. 

And could of men distinguish her election, 

She hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been 

As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing ; 

A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards 

Hath ta'en with equal thanks : and bless'd are those. 

Whose blood and judgment are so w^ell co-mingled, 

That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger 

To sound what stop she please : Give me that man 

That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 

In my heart's core, ay, in m}^ heart of heart, 

As I do thee. — Something too much of this. — 

There is a play to-night before the king : 

One scene of it comes near the circumstance, 

Which I have told thee of my father's death. 

T pr'ythee, when thou seest that act a-foot, 

Even with the very comment of thy soul 

Observe my uncle : if his occulted guilt 

Do not itself unkennel in one speech, 

It is a damned ghost that we have seen ; 

And my imaginations are as foul 

As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note: 

For 1 mine eyes will rivet to his face ; 

And, after, w^e will both our judgments join 

In censure of his seeming. 

Hor. Well, my lord. 

Ham. They are coming to the play ; I must be idle : 
Get you a place. 

Danish march. A flourish. Enter King, Queen, PoLONitJS, 
Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and others. 

King. How fares our cousin Hamlet ? 

Ham. Excellent, i'faith ; of the camelion's dish : 
I eat the air promise-crammed : You cannot feed capons so. 

King. I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet ; these words are 
not mine. 

Ham. No, nor mine now. My lord, — you played once in the 
university, you say ? [To Polonius. 

Pol. That did I, my lord ; and was accounted a good actor. 

Ham. And what did you enact ? 

Pol. I did enact JuUus Caesar : I was killed i'the Capitol ; Brutus 
killed me. 

Ham. It was a brute part of him, to kill so capital a calf there. — 
B ^ the players ready ? 

Ros. Ay, my lord ; they s'ay upon your patience. 

Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. 

Ham. No, good mother, here's metal more attractive. 

Pol. O ho ! do you mark that ? [ To the King. 



HAMLET. 



31 



Ham. Ladv, shall I lie in your lap ? 

[Lying doicn at Ophelia's feet. 

Oph. You are merry, mv lord. 

Ham, Who, I ? 

Oph. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. 6 ! your only jig-maker. What should a man do but be 
merry? for, look you, how cheerfully my mother looks, and my 
father died within these two hours. 

Oph. Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord. 

Ham, So long 2 Nay, then let the de\il wear black, for 1*11 have 
a suit of sables. O heavens ! die two months ago, and not forgotten 
vet ? Then there's hope, a great man's memory may outlive his life 
half a year : But, by'r-lady, he must build churches then. 

Oph. What means the play, my lord ? 

Ham. Marry, this is miching mallecho ; it means mischief. 

Oph. But what is the argument of the play ? 

Enter Prologue. 

Ham. We shall know by this fellows 
Pro. For us, and for our tragedy, 

Here stooping to your clemency. 

We beg your hearing patiently. 
Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring ? 
Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord. 
Hnn. As woman's love. 

The play selected by Hamlet is performed before the court ; in -which the supposed 
mGrder of his father is exhibited. ^ 

The player Q,neen protests to her husband — that — 

— Both here, and hence, pursue me lasting strife, 
f, once a widow, ever I be wife ! 

Ham. If she should break it now, [To Ophella.. 

P. King. 'Tis deeply su-orn. Sweet, leave me here a while; 
My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile 
The tedious day with sleep. [Sleeps. 

P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain, 

And never come mischance between us twain I [Exit 

Ham. Madam, how like you this play ? 

Queen. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. 

Ham. O, but she'll keep her word. 

King. Have you heard the argument ? Is there no offence in't ? 

Ha?n. No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest * no offence i'the 
world. 

King, ^^^lat do you call the play ? 

Ham. The mouse-trap. Marr}\. how? Tropically. This play 
is the image of a murder done in Vienna : Gonzago is the Duke's 
name : his wife, Baptista : you shall see anon ; 'tis a kna\ish piece 
of work : But what of that ? vour maiests', and we that have free 



32 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

souls, it touches us not : Let the galled jade wince, our withers are 
unwrung. — 

Enter a Player , as Lucianus. 

This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. 

Opli. You are as good as a chorus, my lord. 

Ham. I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see 
jne puppets dallying. — Begin, murderer ; — begin ; 

The croaking raven doth bellow for revenge. 

Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs jit, and time agreeing ; 
Confederate season, else no creature seeing ; 
Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected, 
With. Hecate'' s ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, 
Thy natural magic and dire property. 
On wholesome Itfe usurp immediately. 

[Pours the poison into the sleeper^ s ears. 

Ham. He poisons him i' the garden for his estate. His name's 
Gonzago ; the story is extant, and written in very choice Italian : 
You shall see anon, how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's 
wife. 

Opli. The king rises. 

Ham. What ! frighted with false fire ! 

Queen. How fares my lord ? 

Pol. Give o'er the play. 

King. Give me some light : — away ! 

Pol. Lights, lights, lights ! 

[Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio. 

Ham. Why, let the strucken deer go weep, 
The hart ungalled play : 
For some must watch, while some must sleep ; 
Thus runs the world away : — 
O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand pound. 
Did'st perceive ? 

Hor. Very well, my lord. 

Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning, 

Hor. I did very well note him. 

Ham. Ah, ha ! — Come, some music ; come, the recorders. — 
For if the king hke not the comedy, 
Why then, belike, — he hkes it not, perdy. 

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Come, some music. 

Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you. 
Ham. Sir, a whole history. 

Guil, The king, sir, 

Ham. Ay, sir, what of him ? 

Guil. Is, in his retirement, marvellous distempered. 

Ham. With drink, sir ? 



HAMLET. 33 

Chiil. No. my lord, with choler. 

Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more richer, to signify this 
to the doctor ; for, for me to put him to his purgation, would, perhaps, 
plunge him into more choler. 

Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and 
start not so wildly from my aiiair. 

Ham. I am tame, sir : — pronounce. 

Guil. The queen, your mother, in most great affliction of spirit, 
hath sent me to you. 

Ha?n. You are welcome. 

Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the right breed. 
If it shall please you to make me a wholesome answer, I will do your 
mother's commandment : if not, your pardon, and my return, shall 
be the end of my business. 

Ham. Sir, 1 cannot. 

Guil \Vhat, my lord ? 

Ha?72. Make you a wholesome answer ; my wit's diseased : But, 
sir, such answer as I can make, you shall command ; or, rather, as 
you say, my mother : therefore, no more, but to the matter ; My 
mother, you say, 

Ros. Then thus she says ; Your behavior hath struck her mto 
amazement and admiration. 

Ha?n. O wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother ! — But is 
there no sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration ; impart. 

Ros. She desires to speak with you in her closet. 

Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you 
any further trade with us ? 

Ros. My lord, you once did love me. 

Ha?n. And do still, by these pickers and stealers. 

Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper ? you do, 
surely, but bar the door upon your own hberty, if you deny your 
griefs to your friend. 

Ha?n. Sir, I lack advancement. 

Ros. How can that be, when you have the voice of the king him- 
self for your succession in Denmark ? 

Ham. Ay, sir, but While the grass grows. — the proverb is some- 
thing musty. 

Enter the Players, with recorders. 

O, the recorders : — let me see one. — To withdraw with you : — ^\Tiy 
do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me 
into a toil ? 

Guil. O. my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unman- 
nerly. 

Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this 
Dipe ? 

Guil. My lord, I cannot. 

Ham. I pray you. 

Guil. Believe me, I cannot. 

3* 



34 



SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 



Hrm. I do beseech 3^011. 

Guil. I know no touch of it, my lord. 

Htm. 'Tis as easy as lying : govern these ventages with yoar 
fingers and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will dis- 
course most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops. 

Guil. But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony ; 
I have not the skill. 

Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of 
me. You w^ould play upon me ; you w^ould seem to know my stops ; 
you w^ould pluck out the heart of my mystery ; you w^ould sound me 
from my lowest note to the top of my compass : and there is much 
music, excellent voice, in this little organ ; yet cannot you make it 
speak. S'blood, do you think, I am easier to be played on than a 
pipe ? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, 
you cannot play upon me. 

Enter Polonius. 

God bless you, sir. 

Pnh My lord, the queen would speak with you, and presently. 

Ham. Do you see yonder cloud, that's almost in shape of a camel ? 

Pol. By the mass, and 'tis hke a camel, indeed. 

Ham. Methinks, it is like a weasel. 

Pol. It is backed like a w^easel. 

Ham. Or, hke a whale ? 

Pol. Very like a wiiale. 

Ham. Then will I come to my mother by and by.— They fool me 
to the top of my bent. — I will come by and by. 

Pol. I wdll say so. [Exit Polonius. 

Ham. By and by is easily said. — Leave me, friends. 

[Exeimt Ros., Guil., Hon., c^c. 
'Tis now the very w- itching time of night ; 
When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out 
Contagion to this world : Now^ could I drink hot blood, 
And do such business as the bitter day 
Would quake to look on. Soft ; now to my mother. — 
O, heart, lose not thy nature ; let not ever 
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom : 
Let me be cruel, not unnatural : 
I will speak daggers to her, but use none. [Exit. 

SCENE m.— A Roo7n in the sarne. 
Enter King, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. 

King. I like him not : nor stands it safe with lis, 
To let his madness range. Therefore, prepare you ; 
I your commission will forthwith dispatch, 
And he to England shall along with you : 
The terms of our estate mav not endure 



HAMLET. 86 

Hazard so near us. 

Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage ; 
For we will fetters put upon this fear. 
Which now goes too free-footed. 

Ros. Guil. We will haste us. 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Enter Polonius. 

Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's closet : 
Behind the arras I'll convey myself, 
To hear the process ; I'll warrant, she'll tax him home. 
And, as you said, and wisely was it said, 
'Tis meet, that some more audience than a mother, 
Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear 
The speech of vantage. Fare you well, my liege : 
I'll call upon you ere you go to bed, 
And tell you what I know. 

King. Thanks, dear my lord, [Exit Polonius. 

O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven ; 
It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't, 
A brother's murder ! — Pray can I not. 
Though inclination be as sharp as will ; 
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent ; 
And, like a man to double business bound, 
I stand in pause where I shall first begin, 
And both neglect. W^hat if this cursed hand 
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood ? 
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens, 
To wash it white as snow ? Whereto serves mercy, 
But to confront the visage of offence ? 
And what's in prayer, but this tv/o-fold force,— 
To be forestalled, ere we come to fall, 
Or pardon'd, being down ? Then I'll look up ; 
My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer 
Can serve my turn ? Forgive me m.y foul m.urder ! — 
That cannot be ; since I am still possess'd 
Of those effects for which I did the murder. 
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. 
May one be pardon'd, and retain the offence ? 
In the corrupted currents of this world. 
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice ; 
And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself 
Buys out the law^ : But 'tis not so above : 
There is no shuffling, there the action lies 
In his true nature ; and we ourselves compell'd, 
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, 
To give in evidencf^. What then ? what rests ? 
Try what repentance can : What can it not ? 



36 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Yet what can it, when one cannot repent ? 

O wretched state ! O bosom, black as death ! 

O limed soul ; that struggling to be free, 

Art more engag'd ! Help, angels, make assay I 

Bow, stubborn knees ! and, heart, with strings of steel, 

Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe ; 

All may be well ! [Retires and kneels, 

SCENE IV. — Another Room in the same. 
Enter Queen and Polonius. 

Pol. He will come straight. Look, you lay home to him ; 
Tell him, his pranks have been too broad to bear with ; 
And that your grace hath screened and stood between 
Much heat and him. I'll silence me e'en here. 
Pray you, be round with him. 

Queen. I'll warrant you ; 

Fear me not : withdraw, I hear him coming. 

[Polonius hides himself, 

^ Enter Hamlet. 

Ham. Now, mother ; what's the matter ? 
. Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. 

Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended. 

'Quceji, Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. 

Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. 

Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet ? 

Ham. What's the matter now ? 

Queen. Have you forgot me ? 

Ham. No, by the rood, not so ; 

You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife ; 
And, — 'vv^ould it were not so ! — you are my mother. 

Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak. 

Ham. Come, come, and sit you down ; you shall not budge ; 
You go not, till I set you up a glass 
Where you may see the inmost part of you. 

Queen. What wilt thou do ? thou wilt not murder me ? 
Help, help, ho ! 

Pol. [Behind.'] What, ho ! help ! 

Ham. How now ! a rat ? [Draws. 

Dead, for a ducat, dead. 

[Hamlet makes a pass through the arras. 

Pol. [Behind.'] O, I am slain. [Falls, and dies. 

Queen. O me, what hast thou done ? 

Ham. Nay, I know not : 

Is it tlie king ? 

[Lifts up the arras, and draws forth Polgnkts 

Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this ! 



HAMLET. 37 

Ham, A bloody deed ; — almost as bad, good mother, 
As kill a king, and marry with his brother. 

Queen. As kill a king ! 

Ham. Ah, lady, 'twas my word. — 

Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell ! 

[ToPOLONIUS. 

I took thee for thy better ; 

Leave wringing of your hands : Peace, sit you down. 

And let me wring your heart : for so I shall. 

If it be made of penetrable stuff; 

If damned custom have not braz'd it so. 

That it be proof and bulwark against sense. 

Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'st wag thy tongue 
In noise so rude against me ? 

Ham. Such an act. 

That blurs the grace and blush of modesty ; 
Calls virtue, hypocrite ; takes off the rose 
From the fair forehead of an innocent love, 
And sets a blister there ; makes marriage vows 
As false as dicers' oaths : O, such a deed 
As from the body of contraction plucks 
The very soul ; and sweet religion makes 
A rhapsody of words : Heaven's face doth glow ; 
Yea, this solidity and compound mass, 
With tristful visage, as against the doom, 
Is thought-sick at the act. 

Queen. Ah me, what act. 

That roars so loud, and thunders in the index ? 

Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on this ; 
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 
See, what a grace was seated on this brow : 
Hyperion's curls ; the front of Jove himself; 
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command ; 
A station like the herald Mercury, 
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 
A combination, and a form, indeed, 
Where every God did seem to set his seal, 
To give the world assurance of a man : 
This was your husband. — Look you now^, w^hat follows : 
Here is your husband ; like a mildew'd ear. 
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes ? 
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, 
And batten on this moor ? Ha ! have you eyes ? 
You cannot call it love : for, at your age. 
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, 
And waits upon the judgment : and what judgment 
Would step from tliis to this ? 
O shame ! where is thy blush ? 

Queen. O Hamlet, speak no latm^ 



38 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Th-QU tum'st my eyes into my very soul ; 

And there I see such black and grained spots, 

As will not leave their tinct. 

Speak to me no more ; 

These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears : 

No more, sweet Hamlet. 

Ham. A murderer, and a villain : 

A slave, that is not twentieth part the tithe 
Of your precedent lord : — a vice of kings : 
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule ; 
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole. 
And put it in his pocket ! 

Queen. No more. 

Enter Ghost. 

Ham. A king 

Of shreds and patches : — 
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, 
You heavenly guards ! — What would your gracious figure ? 

Queen. Alas ! he's mad. 

Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, 
That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by 
The important acting of your dread command ? 
O, say. 

Ghost. Do not forget : this visitation 
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 
But, look ! amazement on thy mother sits : 
O, step between her and her fighting soul ; 
Speak to her, Hamlet. 

Hain. How is it with you, lady ? 

Queen. Alas, how is 't with you ? 
That you do bend your eye on vacancy, 
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse ? 
O gentle son. 

Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper 
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look ? 

Ham. On him ! on him ! — Look you, how pale he glares ! 
His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones, 
Would make them capable. — Do not look upon me ; 
Lest, with this piteous action, you convert 
My stern effects : then what I have to do 
Will w^ant true color ; tears, perchance, for blood. 

Queen. To whom do you speak this ? 

Ham. Do you see nothing there ? 

Queen. Nothing at all ; yet all, that is, I see. 

Ham. Nor did you nothing hear ? 

Queen. No, nothing, but ourselves. 

Ham. Why, look you there ! look how it steals away ! 



HAMLET. 39 

My father, in his native habit as he hved ! 

Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal ! [Exit Ghost. 

Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain : 
This bodiless creation ecstasy 
Is very cunning in. 

Ham. Ecstasy ! 
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, 
And makes as healthful music : It is not madness. 
That I have utter'd : bring me to the test. 
And I the matter will re-word ; which madness 
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, 
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, 
That not your trespass, but my madness, speaks : 
It will but skin and fihn the ulcerous place ; 
Whiles rank corruption, mhiing all within. 
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven ; 
Repent what's past : avoid what is to come. 

Queen. O Hamlet ! thou hast cleft my heart in twain. 

Ham. O throw away the worser part of it, 
And live the purer with the other half. 
Good night : — 

And when you are desirous to be bless'd, 
I'll blessing beg of you. — For this same lord, 

[Pointing to Polontus. 
T do repent : 

I will bestow him, and will answer well 
The death I gave him. So, again, good night ! 
I must be cruel, only to be kind : 
Thus bad begins,, and worse remains behind. 



ACT IV. 

The guilty King and Queen, alarmed at the consequences which may result from 
Hamlet's evident knowledge of their crimes, determine to send him to England under the 
charge of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, with private instructions to the king of Eng- 
land to effect *' The present death of Havdet.'" This is done, and the young prince 
sails for England. Ophelia, overcome with grief, at the death of her father, becomes 
distracted, and seeks an interview with the dueen. Young Laertes returns from 
France, and charges the King with being privy to the murder of Polonius. 

SCENE v.— Elsinore. A Room in the Castle. 
Enter Queen and Horatio* 

Queen. I will not speak with her. 

Hor, She is importunate ; indeed, distract. 

Queen. Let her come in. [Exit Horatio, 

'Twere good she were spoken with ; for she may strew 
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds. 



40 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 



Enter Ophelia. 



Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark ? 
Queen. How now, Ophelia ? 

Oph. How should I your true love know [Singing, 

From anotlier one ? 
By his cockle hat and staff, 
And his sandal shoon 1 
Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song? 
Oph. Say you ? nay, pray you, mark. 

He is dead and gone, lady, [Sings. 

He is dead and gon£ ; 
At his head a grass-green turf, 
At his heels a stone. 

O, ho! 

Queen. Nay, but Ophelia, 

Oph. ■ Pray you, mark. 

White his shroud as the mountain snow, [Sings, 

Enter Kjng. 
Queen^ Alas, look here, my lord. 

Oph, LardeA all with sweet flowers ; 

Which heivept to the grave did go. 
With true-love showers. 

King. How do you, pretty lady ? 

Oph. Well, Heaven 'ield you ! They say, the owl was a baker's 
daughter. We know what we are, but, know not what we 
may be. 

King. How long hath she been thus ? 

Oph. I hope, all will be well. We must be patient : but I cannot 
choose but weep, to think, they should lay him i' the cold ground : 
My brother shall know of it, and so I tliank you for your good 
counsel. Come, my coach ! Good night, ladies ; good night, sweet 
ladies ; good night, good night. [Exit. 

King. Follow her close ; give her good watch, I pray you. 

[Exit Horatio. 
O ! This is the poison of deep grief; it springs 
All from her father's death : 

Enter a Gentleman. 

What's the matter ? 

Gent. Save yourself, my lord. 

The young Laertes, in a riotous head, 
O'erbears your officers : The rabble call him, lord ; 
They cry. Choose we ; Laertes shall be king ! 
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to tlie clouds, 
'Laertes sliall he kirtg. Laei^ies king ! 



HAMLET. 41 

Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry ! 

King, The doors are broke. {Noise unthin. 

Enter Laertes. 

Laer. Where is this king ? — Sirs, stand you all without. 
O thou vile king, give me my father. 

Queen. Calmly, good Laertes. 

King, What is the cause, Laertes, 
That tny rebellion looks so giant-like ? — 
Let him go, Gertrude ; do not fear our person ; 
There's such di\inity doth hedge a king. 
That treason can but peep to what it would. 
Why art thou thus incens'd ; — Let him go, Gertrude ; — 
Speak, man. 

Laer. Where is my father ? 

King. Dead. 

Queen. But not by him. 

King. Let hun demand his fill. 

Laer, How came he dead ? I'll not be juggled with : 
To this point I stand, — 
That both the worlds I give to negligence, 
Let come what comes ; only I'll be reveng'd 
Most throughly for my father. 

King. Who shall stay you ? 

Laer. My will, not all the world's : 
And, for my means, I'll husband them so well. 
They shall go far with little. 

King, Good Laertes, 

That I am guiltless of your father's death, 

And am most sensibly in grief for it, ^ 

It shall as level to your judgment 'pear, 
As day does to your eye. 

Enter Ophelia fantastically dressed ivith straws and floioers, 

Laer. O rose of May ! 

Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Opheha ! — 
O heavens ! is't possible, a young maid's wits 
Should be as mortal as an old man's life ? 
Nature is fine in love : and, where 'tis fine. 
It sends some precious instance of itself 
After the thing it loves. 

Oph. They bore him harefac'd on the hier ; 

Hey no nonny. nonny heij nonny : 

And in his grave raind many a tear ; — 
Fare you well, my dove ! 



^ SHAKSPEARIAN KEADEK. 

Laer. Hadst thou tliy wits, and didst persuade revenge, 

^' O? Yo\rm" tX Dou-n a^u^n, an you call Mm a^ou-n-a. 
O, hot; the wheel becomes it ! It is the false steward, that stole his 
master's daughter. 

Laer This nothincr's more than matter. 

Oph There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray you, love, 
reme^nber • and there is pansies, that's for thoughts. 

lT^ A document in madness ; thoughts and remembrance 

^%k. There's fennel for you, and columbines -.--there's ru^ for 
you and here's some for me :-we may call ^^'/-^'b of grace obun^ 
davs— -vou may wear your rue with a difference.— There s a dai^y . 
S wodd g^ve^^ou some violets; but tlrey withered all, when my 
father died :— They say, he made a good end, 

For bonny sweet Rohin is all my joy,— [Sings. 

Laer, Thought and affliction, passion, all, 
She turns to favor, and to prettiness. 
Oph. And will lie not come again J 
And will he not corm again ? 
No, no, lie is dead, 
Go to tlry^ death-bed, 
He never ivill corm again. 
His beard was as white as snow, 
All flaxen was his poll : 
He is gone, he is gone, 
And we cast away moan ; 
And veace be with his soul ! ^^ 

And with all Christian souls ! I pray heaven be wi ^^ou . ^^^^^^ 

Laer. Do vou see this, O heaven. ^ 

Kino-. Laertes, I must commune with your gnat, 

Or you deny me right. Go but apart. 

Make choice of whom your wisest fnends you will, 

And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me : 

If bv direct or bv collateral hand 

They find us touch'd, we will our Idngdom give, 

Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours, 

To you in satisfaction ; but, if not, 

Be you content to lend your patience to us, 

And we shaU jointly labor with your soul 

To OTve it due content. 

Laer. Let this be so ; 

His means of death, his obscure funeral,— 

No trophy, sword, nor hatchment, o'er his bones, 

No noble rite, nor formal ostent-ition, — 

Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth, 

That I must call't in question. 



HAMLET. 43 

-i 

Kmcr. So you shall ; | 

A ad. where the olTence is, let the great axe fall. •< 

I pfciy you, go with me. [Exeunt, ■[ 

The ship in which Hamlet is embarked for England is attacked by pirates ; Hamlet ' 

boards the pirate's vessel, and is captured, but is treated with mercy, and landed on the ij 

Danish coast. He sends letters to the Kin| and Horatio, announcing his return, and de- f 

sires the latter to repair to him immediately. j 

In the interim, the King and Laertes become reconciled, and plan together the death < 
of Hamlet. 

Laertes is to engage the Prince at a match of fencing, and with a poisoned rapier he j 
engages to slay Hamlet, and thus revenge the death of Polonius. The conference is inter- 
rupted by the Q,ueen, who rushes in to announce the fate of Ophelia. I 

Enter Queen. ' i 

King. How now, swoet queen ? ,: 

Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel, i 

So fast they follow : — Your sister's drown'd, Laertes. : 

Laer. Drown'd ! O, w^here ! , 

Queen. The"^e is a willow grows ascaunt the brook, . I 

That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream ; ^ i 

Therewith fantastic garlands did she make )\ 

Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, : 

There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds ' 

Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke ; i 

When down her weedy trophies, and herself, '-^ 

Fell in the w^eeping brook. Her clothes spread wide ; 

And, mermaid-like, a while they bore her up : 

Which time, she chanted snatches of old tunes ; 

As one incapable of her own distress, 

Or like a creature native and indu'd 

Unto that element : but long it could not be. 

Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, 

Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay 

To muddy death. 

Laer. Alas then, she is drown'd ? 

Queen. Drown'd, drown'd. 

Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, 

And therefore I forbid my tears : But yet 

It is our trick ; nature her custom holds. 

Let shame say what it will ; when these are gone, 

The woman will be out. — Adieu, my lord ! 

I have a speech of fire, that fain w^ould blaze. 

But that this folly drowns it. [Exit. 

King. Let's follow, Gertrude ; 

How much I had to do to calm his rage ! 

Now fear I, this will give it start again ; 

Therefore, let's follow. \_Exeund. 



44 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

ACT V. 

SCENE L— A Cliurch-Yard. 

Enter Two Clowns, with spades, c^c, 

1st CIo. Is she to be buried in cW'istian burial, that wilfully seeks 
her own salvation ? 

2nd do. I tell thee, she is ; therefore make her grave straight : 
the crowner hath set on her, and finds it christian burial. 

1 St Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own 
defence ? 

2nd Clo. Why, 'tis found so. 

\st Clo. It mn5t be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here 
lies the point : If 1 drown myself wittingly, it argues an act : and an 
act hath three branches ; it is, to act, to do, and to perform : Argal, 
she drowned herself wittingly. 

2nd Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver. 

\st Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: here stands 
the man ; good : If the man go to this water, and drown himself, it 
is, will he, nill he, he goes ; mark you that : but if the water come to 
him, and drown him, he drowns not himself: Argal, he, that is not 
guilty of his own death, shortens not his own life. 

2nd Clo. But is this law ? 

\st Clo. Ay, marry is't ; crowner's-quest law. 

2nd Clo. Will you ha' the truth on't ? If this had not been a 
gentlew^oman, she should have been buried out of christian burial. 

\st Clo. Why, there thou say'st : And the more pity; that great 
folks shall have countenance in this world to drown or hang them- 
selves, more than their even christian. Come, my spade. These is 
no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and gravemakers ; they 
hold up Adam's profession. 

2nd Clo. Was he a gentleman ? 

\st Clo, He was the first that ever bore arms. 

2nd Clo. Why, he had none. 

\st Clo. What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the 
scripture ? The scripture says, Adam digged ; Could he dig without 
arms ? I'll put another question to thee : if thou answerest me not 
to the purpose, confess thyself 

2nd Clo. Go to. 

\st Clo. What is he, that builds stronger than either the mason, 
the shipwright, or the carpenter ? 

2d Clo. The gallows-maker ; for that frame outlives a thousand 
tenants. — 

\st Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith ; the gallows does well : 
But how does it w^ell ? it does well to those that do ill : now thou dost 
ill, to say, the gallows is built stronger than the church ; argal, the 
gallows may do well to thee. To't again ; come. 

2nd Clo. Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, cr a 
carpenter ? 



HAMLET. 45 

1st Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. 
2nd Clo. Marry, now I can tell. 
Ist Clo. To't. 
2nd Clo. Mass, I cannot tell. 

Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance. 

Ist Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it ; for your dull ass will 
not mend his pace with beating : and, when you are asked this ques- 
tion next, say, a grave-maker ; the houses that he makes, last till 
doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan, and fetch me a stoup of 
liquor. \_Exit 2nd Clown. 

1st Clown digs, and sings. 

In youth ^ when I did love, did love, 
Methought, it was very sweet, 
To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove 
O, methought, there was nothing meet. 

Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business ? he sings at 
grave-making. 

Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness. 

Ham. 'Tis e'en so : the hand of little employment hath the daintier 
sense. That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once : How 
the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that 
did the first murder ! This might be the pate of a politician ; one 
that would circumvent heaven, might it not ? 

Hor. It might, my lord. 

Ham. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at 
loggats with them ? mine ache to think on't. There's another : 
Why may not that be the skull of a lawyer ? Where be his quiddits 
now, his quiliits, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks ? why does he 
suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the sconce with a 
dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery ? Humph ! 
This fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, 
his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries : Is 
this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have 
his fine pate full of fine dirt ? will his vouchers vouch him no more 
of his purchases, and double ones too, than the length and breadth 
of a pair of indentures ? The very conveyances of his lands will 
hardly lie in his box: ; and must the inheritor himself have no more ? 
ha? 

Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. 

Ham. I will speak to this fellow : — Whose grave is this, sirrah ? 

1st Clo. Mine, sir. — 

O, a fit of clay for to he made, \^ings^ 

For such a guest is meet. 
Ham. I think it be thine, indeed ; for thou liest in't. 
1st Clo. You he out on't. sir, and therefore it is not yours : for my 
part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine. 



46 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Ham, Thou dost lie in't, to be in't, and say it is thine : 'tis for tiie 
dead, not for the quick ; therefore thou Hest. 

l.s^ Clo. 'Tis a quick he, sir ; 'twill away again, from me to you. 

Ham. What man dost thou dig it for ? 

\st Clo. For no man, sir. 

Ham. What woman, then ? 

\st Clo. For none neither. 

Ham. Who is to be buried in't ? 

l.s^ Clo. One that was a w^oman, sir ; but, rest her soul, she's 
dead. 

Ham. How absolute the knave is ! we must speak by the card, or 
equivocation will undo us. By the lord, Horatio, these three years 
I have taken note of it ; the age is grown so picked, that the toe of 
the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe. 
— How long hast thou been a grave-maker ? 

\st Clo. Of all the days i' the year, I came to't that day that our 
last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras. 

Ham. How long's that since ? 

Ist Clo. Cannot you tell that ? every fool can tell that: It was 
that very day that young Hamlet was born : he that is mad, and sent 
into England. 

Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into England ? 

\st Clo. Why, because he was mad : he shall recover his wits 
there ; or, if he do not, 'tis no great matter there. 

Ham. Why? 

\st Clo. 'Twill not be seen in him there ; there the men are as 
mad as he. 

Ham. How came he mad ? 

\st Clo. Very strangely, they say. 

Ham. How strangely ? 

\st Clo. 'Faith, e'en with losing his wits. 

Ham. Upon what ground ? 

\st Clo. Why, here in Denmark ; I have been sexton here, man 
and boy, thirty years. 

Ham. How long will a man lie i' the earth ere he rot ? 

Ist Clo. Why, sir, here's a skull now hath lain you i' the earth 
three-and -twenty years. 

Ham. Whose was it ? 

1st Clo. A mad fellow's it was ; Whose do you think it was ? 

Ham. Nay, I know not. 

\st Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue ! he poured a flagon 
of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir, w^as Yorick's 
skull, the king's jester. 

Ham. This ? [Takes the skull 

1st Clo. E'en that. 

Ham. Alas, poor Yorick ! — I knew him, Horatio ; a fellow of in- 
finite jest, of most excellent fancy : he hath borne me on his buck a 
thousand times. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know 
not how oft. Where be your gibes now ? your gfambols ? vout 



HAMLET. 47' 

songs ? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set me table 
on a roar ? Not one now to mock your own grinning ? quite chap- 
fallen ? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and teil her, let her 
paint an inch thicl^, to this favor she m-v^ come ; make her laugh at 
that. — Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one th. ;^ 

H(yr. What's that, my lord ? 

Ham. Dost thou think, Alexander looked o' this fashion i' 
the earth ? 

Hot. E'en so. 

Ham. And smelt so ? pah ! [ Throws dozen the skull. 

Hot. E'en so, my lord. 

Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio ! Why may 
not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stop- 
ping a bung-hole ? 

Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so ? 

Ham. No, faith, not a jot ; but to follow him thither with modesty 
enough, and likeHhood to lead it : As thus ; Alexander died, Alex- 
ander was buried, Alexander returned to dust ; the dust is earth ; 
of earth we make loam : And why of that loam, whereto he was 
converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel ? 

Imperious Caesar, dead, and turn'd to clay, 
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away : 
O, that the earth, which kept the world in awe. 
Should patch a w^all to expel the winter's flaw ! 
But soft ! but soft ! aside ; — Here comes the king. 

Enter Priests, cf-c, in procession ; the corpse of Ophelia, Laertes, 
anJ Mourners following : King, Queen, their Trains, c^c. 

The queen, the courtiers : Who is this they follow ? 

And with such maimed rites ! This doth betoken. 

The corse, they follow, did with desperate hand 

Foredo its own life. 'Twas of some estate : 

Couch we awhile, and mark. [Retiring with Horatio, 

Laer. What ceremony else ? 

Ham. That is Laertes. 

A very noble youth : Mark. 

Laer. What ceremony else? 

1 Priest. Her obsequies have been so far enlarg'd 
As we have warranty : Her death was doubtful ; 
And, but that great command o'ersways the order, 
She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd 
Till the last trumpet ; for charitable prayers. 
Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her, 
Yet here she is allowed her virgin crants, 
Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home 
Of bell and burial. 

Laer. Must there no more be done ? 

1 Priest. No more be done ! 



48 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

We should profane the service of the dead 
To sing a requiem, and such rest to her, 
As to peace-parted souls. 

Laer. Lay her i' the earth, — 

And from her fair and unpolluted flesh 
May violets spring ! — I tell thee, churlish priest, 
A minist'ring angel shall my sister be, 
When thou liest howling. 

Ham. What, the fair Ophelia ! 

Queen. Sweets to the sweet : Farewell: [Scattering flowers, 

I hop'd, thou should'st have been my Hamlet's wife ; 
I thought, thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid. 
And not have strew'd thy grave. 

Laer. O, treble woe 

Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, 
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense 
Depriv'd thee of ! — Hold off the earth aw^hile, 
Till I have caught her once more in mine arms : 

[Leaps into the gravs. 
Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead ; 
Till of this flat a mountain you have made, 
To o'er-top old Pelion, or the skyish head 
Of blue Olympus. 

Ha7n. [Advancing.] What is he, w^hose grief 
Bears such an emphasis ? whose phrase of sorrow 
Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand 
Like wonder-wounded hearers ? this is I, 
Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps into the grave, 

Laer. The devil take thy soul ! [Grappling with him. 

Ham. Thou pray'st not well. 
I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat ; 
For, though I am not splenetive and rash, 
Yet have I in me something dangerous. 
Which let thy wisdom fear : Hold off thy hand. 

King. Pluck them asunder. 

Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet ! 

All. Gentlemen, 

Hor. Good my lord, be quiet. 

[ The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave. 

Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme, 
Until my eyelids will no longer wag. 

Queen. O my son ! what theme ? 

Ham. I loved Ophelia ; forty thousand brothers 
Could not with all their quantity of love 
Make up my sum. — What wilt thou do for her ? 

King. O, he is mad, Laertes. 

Ham. Zounds, show me what thou'lt do : 
Woul't weep ? woul't fight ? woul't fast ? woul't tear thyself ? 
WouPt drink up Esil ? eat a crocodile ? 



HAMLET. 49 

ril dot. — Dost thou come here to whine ? 
To outface me with leaping in her grave ? 
Be buried quick with her. and so will I : 
And. if thou prate of mountams, let them throw 
Z\Iillions of acres on us ; till our ground 
Singeing his pate against the burning zone, 
Make Ossa Uke a wan I Xay, an thou'lt mouth , 
ril rant as well as thou. 

Queen. This is mere madness, 

And thus awhile the fit will work on hun ; 
Anon, as patient as the female dove, 
When that her golden couplets are disclos'd, 
His silence will sit drooping. 

Ham. H*ear you, sir ; 

W\\dX is the reason, that you use me thus ? 
I lov'd you ever : But it is no matter ; 
Let Hercules himself do vrhat he may, 
The cat will mew, and dog will have his day. [Eoc-ii, 

King. I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him. — 

[Exit Horatio. 
Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech ; \_To Laertes. 
We'll put tiie matter to the present push. — 
Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. — 
This grave shall have a living monument : 
An hour of quiet shortly shall we see ; 
Till then, in patience our proceeding be. \^Exeunt. 

Hamlet has learned the intentions of the King, in sending him to England, and 
while consulting with Hoiatio how to act, a messenger comes from Claudius inviting the 
Prince to a " trial of skill " in fencing, with Laertes ; Hamlet accepts the challenge, and 
the scene changes to a Hall in the Palace where the court are assembled to witness tht 
encounter. 

SCENE the last.— A Hcdl in the Castle. 

Enter Hamlet, Horatio, King, Queen, Laertes, Lords, Osric, 
aiid Attendants with foils, cf-c. 

King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me. 

\_The King- puts the hand of Laertes into that of ^^amlet. 

Ham. Give me your pardon, sir : I have done you wro^^g ; 
But pardon it as you are a gentleman. 
Let my disclaiming from a purposed evil 
Free me so far in your most generous thoughts. 
That I have shot my arrow o'er the house, 
And hurt my brother. 

Laer. I am satisfied in nature, 

Whose motive, m this case, should stir me most 
To my revenge : 

I do receive your ofier'd love like love^ 
And will not wrong it. 

4 



1 



50 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Ham. I embrace it freely ; 

And ^vill this brother's wager frankly })lay. — 
Give us the foils ; come on. 

Laer. Come, one for me. 

Ham. ril be your foil, Laertes ; in mine ignorance 
Your skill shall, like a star i' the darkest night, 
Stick fiery oiF indeed. 

Laer. You mock me, sir. 

Ham. No, by this hand. 

King. Give them the foils, young Osric. — Cousin Hamlet, 
You know the wager ? 

Ham. Very well, my lord ; 

Your grace hath laid the odds o' the weaker side. 

King. I do not fear it : I have seen you both : — 
But since he's better'd, we have therefore odds. 

Laer. This is too heavy, let me see another. 

Ham. This likes me well : These foils have all a length ? 

[ They 'prepare to play, 

Osr. Ay, my good lord. 

King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that table : — 
If Hamlet give the first or second hit, 
Or quit in answer of the third exchange, 
Let all the battlements their ordnance fire ; 
The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath ; 
And in the cup an union shall he throw, 
Richer than that which four successive kings 
In Denmark's crown have worn ; Give me the cups ; 
And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, 
The trumpet to the cannoneer without, 
The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth, 
No2v the king drinks to Hamlet. — Come, begin ; — 
And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. 

Ham. Come on, sir, 

Laer. Come, my lord. [ They play.i 

Ham. One. 

Laer. No. 

Ham. Judgment. 

Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit. 

Laer. Well, — again. 

King. Stay, give me drink : Hamlet, tliis pearl is thine ; 
Here's to thy health. — Give him the cup. 

[^Trumpets sound; and cannon shot off withiml 

Ham. I'll play this bout first, set it by awhile. 
Come. — Another hit ; What say you ? "^ [ They playi 

Laer. A touch, a touch, I do confess. 

King. Our son shall win. 

Queen. The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. 

Ham. Good madam, 

King. Gertrude, do not drink. 



HAMLET. 61 

Queen. I will, my lord ; — I pray you, pardon me. 

King. It is the poison'd cup ; it is too late. [Aside. 

Laer. I'll hit him now ; 

And yet it is almost against m.y conscience. [Aside. 

Ham. Come, for the third, Laertes : You do but dally ; 
I pray you, pass with your best violence ; 
I am afeard, you make a wanton of me. 

Laer. Say you so ? come on. [They play. 

[Laertes icounds Hamlet ; then, in sciiffling, they 

change rapiers, and Hamlet icounds Laertes. 

King. Part them, they are incens'd. 

Ham. Nay, come again. [The Queen /rzZZs. 

Osr. Look to the queen there, ho ! 

Hor, They bleed on both sides : — How^ is it, my lord ? 

Osr. How is't, Laertes ? 

Laer. ^Vhy, as a woodcock to my own springe, Osric ; 
I am justly kiird with mine own treachery. 

Ham. How does the queen ? 

King. She swoons to see them bleed. 

Queen. No, no, the drink, the drink, — O my dear Hamlet ! — 
The drink, the drink ; — I am poison'd ! [Dies. 

Ham. O villany ! — Ho ! let the door be lock'd : 
TreacheiT ! seek it out. [Laertes falls. 

Laer. It is here, Hamlet : Hamlet, thou art slain ; 
No medicine in the world can do thee good ; 
In thee there is not half an hour's life ; ^ 

The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, 
Unbated. and envenom'd : the foul practice 
Hath turn'd itself on me ; lo, here I lie. 
Never to rise again : Thy mother's poison'd ; 
I can no more ; the king, the king's to blame. 

Ham. The point 
Envenom'd too ! — Then, venom, to thy work. [Stabs the KdsG. 

Follow my mother. 

Laer. He is justly serv'd ; 

It is a poison temper'd by himself. — 
Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet : 
Mine and my father's death come not upon thee ; 
Nor thine on me ! [Dies, 

Ham. Heaven make thee free of it ! $ follow^ thee. 
You that look pale and tremble at this chance. 
That are but mutes or audience to this act, 
Had I but time, (as this fell sergeant, death, 
Is strict in his arrest.) O, 1 could tell you, — 
But let it be : — Horatio, I am dead ; 
Thou Hv'st ; report me and my cause aright 
To the unsatisfied. 

Hcrr. Never believe it ; 



52 



SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 



I am more an antique Roman than a Dane, 
Here's yet some liquor left. 

Ham. As thou'rt a man, — 

Give me the cup ; let go ; by heaven I'll have it. — 
O Heaven ! — Horatio, what a wounded name, 
Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me ! 
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, 
Absent thee from felicity awhile. 
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, 
To tell my story. — O, I die, Horatio ; 
The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit ; 
The rest is silence. [Dies, 

Hor. Now cracks a noble heart ; — Good-night, sweet prince ; 
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest ! 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Various sources have be assigned, from which Shakspeare borrowed the story of 
this comedy ; Orlando Furioso, The Faery Q,ueen, and a novel of Bandello's, have 
each been cited as furnishing the original conception of the plot. It is perhaps of little 
consequence whence the poet drew his materials : the play itself is so full of life and 
character, so teeming with wit, poetry, and humor, as to render the mere superstructure 
on wL'ch the incident* are founded a matter of no account to the general reader. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon. 

Don JoHX, his illegitimate brother. 

Claudio, a young lord of Florence, favorite to Don Pedro. 

Benedick, a young lord of Fadua, favorite likewise to Don Pedro. 

Leon'ato, governor of Messina. 

AxTOXio, his brother. 

Balthazar, servant to Don Pedro. 

BoRACHio, Co-SRA-HY., followers 0/ Don John. 

Dogberry, Verges, two foolish officers. 

A Sexton, A Friar, A Boy. 

Hero, daughter to Leonato. 
Beatrice, niece to Leonato. 

Margaret, Ursula, gentleicomen attending on Hero. 
Messengers, Watch, and Attendants. 
SCENE,— Messixa, 



ACT I. 

SCENE I,— Before Leonato's House. 
Enter Leonato. Hero, Beatrice, and others, with a Messenger. 

Leon. I learn in this letter, that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this 
night to Messina. 



54 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Mess. He is very near by this ; he was not three leagues oft' when 
I left him. 

Leon. Plow many gentlemen have you lost in this action ? 

Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. 

Leon. A victory is twice itself, v*'hen the achiever brings home 
full numbers. I find here, that Don Pedro hath bestowed much 
honor on a 3'oung Florentine, called Claudio. 

Mess. Much deserved on his part, and equally remembered by 
Don Pedro : He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age ; 
doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion : he hath, indeed, 
better bettered expectation, than you must expect of me k) tell you 
how. 

Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina v/ill be very much glad 
of it. 

Aless. I have already delivered him letters, and there appears 
much joy in him ; even so much, that joy could not show itself 
modest enough, without a badge of bitterness. 

Leon. Did he brer.k - t into tears ? 

Mess. In great mc. e. 

Leo7i. A kind overllow of kindness : There are no faces truer 
than those that are so washed. How much better is it to w^eep at 
joy, than to joy at w^eeping ? 

Beat. I pray you, is signior Montanto returned from the wars, 
or no ? 

Mess. I know none of that name, lady ; there was none such in 
the army of any sort. 

Leon, What is he that you ask for, niece ? 

Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of Padua. 

Mess. O, he is returned, and as pleasant as ever he was. 

Beat. I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten in these 
wars ? Bat how many hath he killed ? for, indeed, I promised to 
eat all of his killing. 

Leon. Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too much ; but he'll 
be meet with you, I doubt it not. 

Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars. 

Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it : he is a 
very vahant trencher-man, he hath an excellent stomach. 

Mess. And a good soldier too, lady. 

Beat. And a good soldier to a lady ; — But w^hat is he to a lord ? 

Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man ; stuffed with all honor- 
able virtues. 

Beat. It is so, indeed : he is no less than a stuffed man : but for 
the stuffing, — Well, we are all mortal. 

Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece : there is a kind of 
merry war betwixt signior Benedick and her: they never meet, but 
there is a skirmish of wit between them. 

Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our last conflict, four of 
his five wits went halting off, and now is the old man governed w^ith 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ^ 55 

one : so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him 
bear it for a difference between himself and his horse ; for it is all 
the wealth that he hath left, to be known a reasonable creature. — 
Wh{3 is his companion now ? He hath every month a new sworn 
brother. 

Mess. Is it possible ? 

Beat. Very easily possible : he w^ars his faith but as the fashion 
of his hat, it ever changes with the next block. 

Mess, I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books. 

Beat. No : an he were, I would barn my study. But, I pray you, 
who is his companion ? 

3Iess. He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio. 

Beat. O ! he will hang upon him hke a disease : he is sooner 
caught than the pestilence : and the taker runs presently mad. 
Heaven help the noble Claudio ! if he have caught the Benedick, it 
will cost him a thousand pound ere he be cured. 

Mess. I will hold friends with you. lady. 

Beat. Do, good friend. 

Leon. You will never run mad, niece. 

Beat. No, not till a hot January. 

Mess. Don Pedro is approached. 

Enter Don Pedro, attended by Balthazar and others^ Don John, 
Claudio, and Benedick. 

D. Pedro. Good signior Leonato, you are come to meet your 
trouble : the fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you en- 
counter it. 

Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your 
grace ; for trouble being gone, comfort should remain ; but when 
you depart from me, sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave. 

D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too wiUingly. — I think, this 
is your daughter. 

Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so. 

D. Pedro. Be happy, lady, for you are like an honorable father. 

Bene. If signior Leonato be her father, she w^ould not have his 
head on her shoulders, for all Messina, as like him as she is. 

Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, signior Ben^diek ; 
nobody marks you. 

Bene. What, my dear lady Disdain ! are you yet living ? 

Beat. Is it possible, disdain should die, while she hath such meet 
food to feed it, as signior Benedick ? Courtesy itself must convert 
to disdain, if you come in her presence. 

Bene. Then is courtesy a turn- coat : — But it is certain, I am loved 
of all ladies, only you excepted : and I would I could find in my heart 
that I had not a hard heart : for, truly, I love none. 

Beat. A dear happiness to woman ; they would else have been 
troubled with a pernicious suitor. I had rather hear my dog bark at 
a crow, than a man swear he loves me. 



56 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Beiie. Heaven keep your ladyship still in that mind ! so some gen- 
deman or other shall 'scape a predestinate scratched face. 

Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such a face 
as yours were. 

Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. 

Beat. A bird of my tongue, is better than a beast of yours. 

Bene. I would, my horse had the speed of your tongue ; and so 
^'ood a continuer : But keep your way ; I have done. 

Beat. You always end with a jade's trick ; I know you of old. 

D. Pedro. This is the sum of all : — Leonato, — signior Claudio, and 
signior Benedick, — my dear friend Leonato hath invited you all. I 
tell him, we shall stay here at the least a month ; and he heartily 
prays some occasion may detain us longer : 1 dare swear he is no 
iiypocrite. but prays from his heart. 

Leon If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn. — Let me 
bid you welcome, my lord : being reconciled to the prince your 
brother, I owe you all duty. 

D. Joi^n. I thank you : I am not of many words, but I thank you. 

Leon. Please it your grace lead on ? 

D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato ; we will go together. 

{Exeunt all hut Benedick and Claudio. 

Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of signior Leonato ? 

Bene. I noted her not : but I looked on her. 

Claud. Is she not a modest young lady ? 

Beiie. Do you question me as an honest man should do, for my 
simple true judgment ; or would you have me speak after my cus- 
tom, as being a professed tyrant to their sex ? 

Claud No, I pray thee, speak in sober judgment. 

Bene. Why, i' faith, methinks she is too low for a high praise, too 
brown for a fair praise, and too little for a great praise : only this 
commendation I can afford her ; that were she other than she is, she 
were unhandsome ; and being no other but as she is, I do not hke 
her. 

Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport ; I pray thee, tell me truly 
how thou likest her ? 

Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire after her ? 

Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel ? 

Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this with a 
'ad brov/ ? or do you play the flouting jack ; to tell us Cupid is a 
:i'ood hare-finder, and Vulcan a rare carpenter ? Come, in what key 
.^hall a man take you, to go in the song ? 

Claud. In mine eye, she is the sweetest lady that ever I loojied 
•.a. 

Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I see no such matter : 
liere's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fury, exceeds 
ler as much in beauty, as the first of May doth the last of i)ecember. 
But I hope, you have no intent to turn husband ; have you ? 

Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn tlu^ con- 
'•ary, if Eero would be my wife. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 57 

Bene. Is it come to tliis. i' faith ? Hath not the world one man, 
but he will wear his cap with suspicion ? Shall I never see a bache- 
lor of three-score again ? Go to, i' faith : an thou wilt needs thrust 
thy neck into a yoke, wear the print of it, and sigh away Sundays. 
Look, Don Pedro is returned to seek you. 

Re-enter Don Pedro. 

D. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that you followed not 
to Leonato's ? 

Bene. I would, your grace would constrain me to tell. 

Z>. Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance. 

Bene. You hear, count Claudio : I can be secret as a dumb man, 
I would have you think so ; but on my allegiance, — mark you this, 
on my allegiance : — He is in love. With who ? — now that is your 
grace's part. — Ma^k, how^ short, his answer is : With Hero, Leonato's 
short daughter. 

Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. 

Bene. Like the old tale, my lord : " it is not so, nor 'twas not so : 
but. indeed, Heaven forbid it should be so." 

Claud. If my passion change not shortly, Heaven forbid it should 
be otherwise. 

D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her ; for the lady is very well 
worthy. 

Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. 

D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought. 

Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. 

Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I spoke mine. 

Claud. That I love her, I feel. 

D. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. 

Bene. That I neither feel how she should be loved, nor know how 
she should be worthy, is the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me ; 
I will die in it at the stake. 

D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite of 
beauty. 

Claud. And never could maintain his part, but in the force of his 
will. 

Bene. Because I will not do them the wrong to mistrust any 
woman, I will do myself the right to trust none ; and the fine is, (for 
the which I may go the finer.) I will live a bachelor. 

D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love. 

Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord ; not 
with love : prove, that ever I lose more blood with love, than I w^U 
get again with drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's 
pen, and hang me up for the sign of Wind Cupid. 

D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt 
prove a notable argument. 

Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and shoot at me ; and 
he that hits me, let him be clapped on the shoulder, and called Adam. 

4* 



58 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

D. Pedro. Well, as time shall try : 

In time the savage hull doth hear the yoke. 
Bene. The sava,^e bull mav ; but if ever the sensible Benedick 
bear it, pluck off the bull's horns, and set them in my forehead : and 
let me be vilely painted ; and in such great letters as they write, Here is 
good horse to hire, let them signify under my sign,— ifere you may see 
Benedick, the married man. 

Claud. If this should ever happen, thou would'st be horn-mad. 
D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver m Venice, 
thou wilt quake for this shortly. 

Bene. I look for an earthquake too then. 

D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the hours. In the 
meantime, good signior Benedick, repair to Leonato's ; commend me 
to him, and tell him, I will not fail him at supper ; for, indeed, he 
hath made great preparation. 

Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for such an embassage ; 
and so I commit you — 

Claud. To the tuition of Heaven : From my house, (if 1 had it)— 
D. Pedro. The sixth of July : Your loving friend, Benedick. 
Bene. Nav, mock not. mock not : The body of your discourse is 
sometime guarded with fraa^ments, and the guards are but shghtly 
basted on neither : ere you flout old ends any further,^ examine your 
conscience ; and so I leave you. [^Exit Bekedick. 

Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me good. 
D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach ; teach it but how, 
And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn 
Any hard lesson that may do thee good. 
Claud. Hath Leonato*^any son, my lord ? 
D. Pedro. No child but Hero, she's his only heir : 
Dost thou affect her, Claudio ? 

Claud. O my lord. 

When you went onward on this ended action, 
I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye. 
That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand 
Than to drive liking to the name of love ; 
But now I am return'd, and that war-thoughts 
Have left their places vacant, in their rooms 
Come thronging soft and delicate desires, 
All prompting me how fair young Hero is, 
Saying, I lik'd her ere I went to wars. 

D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently. 
And tire the hearer with a book of words : 
If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it ; 
And I will break with her, and with her father. 
And thou shalt have her : Was't not to this end, 
That thou began'st to twist so fine a story ? 

Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love, 
That know love's grief by his complexion ! 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 59 

But lest my liking might too sudden seem, 
I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise. 

D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader than the flood ? 
The fairest grant is the necessity : 
Look, what will ser\-e, is fit : 'tis once, thou lov'st ; • 
And I will fit thee with the remedy. 
I know, we shall have revelhng to-night ; 
I will assume thy part in some disguise, 
And tell fair Hero I am Claudio ; 
And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart, 
And take her hearing prisoner with the force 
And strong encounter of my amorous tale : 
Then, after, to her father will I break ; 
And the conclusion is, she shall be thine : 
In practice let us put it presently. [Exeunt. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. — A Hall in Leonato's House. 

Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, and others. 

Leon. Was not count John here at supper ? 

Ant. I saw him not. 

Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks ! I never can see him, but 
1 am heart-burned an hour after. 

Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. 

Beat. He were an excellent man, that were made just in the mid- 
way between him and Benedick ; the one is too like an image, and 
says nothing ; and the other, too like my lady's eldest son, evermore 
tattling. 

Leon. Then half signior Benedick's tongue in count John's mouth, 
and half count John's melancholy in signior Benedick's face, — 

Beat. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle, and money enough 
in his purse, such a man would win any woman in the world, — if he 
could get her good will. 

Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if 
thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. 

Ard. Well, niece, [to Hero,] I trust you \^ill be ruled by your 
father. 

Beat. Yes, faith ; it's my cousin's duty to m.ake courtesy, and say, 
Father, as it please you : — but yet for all that, cousin, let him be a 
handsome fellow, or else make another courtesy, and say. Father, as 
it please me. 

Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a hus- 
band. 

Beat. Not till men are made of some other metal than earth. 
Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered with a piece of 
vahant dust ? to make an account of her life to a clod of wavward 



80 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

jiarl ? No, uncle, I'll hold none. Aclam*s sons are my brethren ; and 
irul}^, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred. 

Leon, Daughter, remember what I told you : if the prince do 
:-olicit you in th^t kind, you know your answer. 

Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not woo'd 
iii good time : if the prince be too important, tell him., there is measure 
in every thing, and so dance out the answer. For hear me, Hero ; 
,A ooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a 
(:!nque-pace : the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full 
tis fantastical ; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure full of 
; tate and ancientry ; and then comes repentance, and, with his bad 
legs, falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink into his 
grave. 

Leon, Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. 

Beat, I have a good eye, uncle, I can see a church by daylight. 

Leon. The revellers are entering ; brother, make good room. 

The P\ fn-ranged by Don Pedro, is carried into execution at the masked Ball given 
by Leonato. The Prince disguised as Claudio, wooes Hero, and obtains confession of her 
love. He also breaks the matter to Leonato, who cheerfully consents to the union of h.is 
daughter with Claudio. 

Don Pedro, Leonato, Claudio, and Hero, now undertake to bring Beaedick and 
P>eatrice * into a mountain of affection. ' — Their plans are carried out in the two follow- 
ing srjenes. 

SCENE III.— Leonato's Garden. 
Enter- Benedick and a Boy. 

Bene. Boy,-— - 

Boy. Signior. 

' Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book ; bring it hitiier to me in 
the orchard. 

Bor. I am here already, sir. 

Bene. I know that ; — but I would have thee hence, and here again. 
\_Exit Boy.] — I do much wonder, that one man, seeing how much 
another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviors to love, will, 
after he hath laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the 
■irgument of his ow^n scorn, by falling in love : And such a man is 
Claudio. I have known w^hen there was no music with him but the 
Jrum and fife ; and now had he rather hear the tabor and the pipe : 
I have known, w^hen he w^ould have walked ten mile afoot, to see a 
good armor ; and now will he lie ten nights awake, carving the flishion 
cf a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain, and to the purpose, 
like an honest man, and a soldier ; and now is he turnM orthographer ; 
his words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many strange dishes. 
May I ' '3 so converted, and see with these eyes ? I cannot tell ; I 
; liink not : I will not be sworn, but love may transform me to an 
yster ; but Til take my oath on it, till he hath made an oyster of me, 
viQi shall never make me such a fool. One woman is fair ; yet I am 
well : another is wise : yet I am well : another virtuous ; yet I am 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 61 

well : but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come 
in my grace. Ricti, she shall be, that's certain ; wise, or I'll none ; 
virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her ; fair, or I'll never look on her ; 
mild, or come not near me ; noble, or not I for an angel ; of good 
discourse, an excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what color 
it please. Ha ! the prince and monsieur Love ! I will hide me in 
the arbor. [ Withdraws. 

Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, and Claudio. 

D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music ? 

Claud. Yea, my good lord : — How still the evening is, 
As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony ! 

D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself? 

Claud. O, very well, my lord : the music ended, 
We'll fit the kid fox with a pennyworth. 

Enter Balthazar, with music. 

D. Pedro. Come Balthazar, we'll hear that song again. 

Balth. O good my lord, tax not so bad a voice 
To slander music any more than once. 

D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency. 
To put a strange face on his owm perfection : — 
I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. 

Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing : 
Since many a w^ooer doth commence his suit 
To her he thinks not w^orthy ; yet he wooes ; 
Yet he will swear, he loves. 

D. Pedro. Nay, pray thee, come : 

Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument, 
Do it in notes. 

Balth. Note this before my notes. 

There's not a note of mine that's Vv'orth the noting. 

D. Pedro. Why these are very crotchets that he speaks ; 
Note, notes, forsooth, and noting ! [Music, 

Bene. Now, Divine air ! now is his soul ravished ! 

Balthazar sings, 

I. Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more ; 

Men loere deceivers ever ; 
One foot in sea, and one on ^hore ; 
To one thing constant never: 
Then sigh not so, 
But let them go. 
And he you blithe and honny ; 
Convertins^ oil your sounds of icoe • 
Into, Hey nonny, nonny. 

II. Sing no mcn^e ditties, sing no mo 

Of dumps so dull and heavy ; 



62 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

The fraud of men was ever so, 
Since summer first ivas leavy. 
Then sigh not so. &c. 

D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. 

Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. 

Claud. Ha ? no ; no, faith ; thou singest well enough for a shift. 

Bene. [AsiJe.] — An he had been a dog, that should have howled 
thus, they would have hanged him : and, I pray Heaven his bad 
voice bode no mischief ! I had as lief have heard the night raven, 
come what plague could have come after it . 

D. Pedro. Yea, marry ; [to Claudio.] — Dost thou hear, Baltha- 
zar ? I pray thee, get us some excellent music ; for to-morrow 
night we would have it at the lady Hero's chamber-window. 

Balth. The best I can, my lord. 

D. Pedro. Do so : farewell. [Exeunt Balthazar and music.'] 
Come hither, Leonato : What was it you told me of to-day ? that 
your niece Beatrice was in love with signior Benedick ? 

Claud. O, ay : — Stalk on, stalk on : the fowl sits. [Aside to 
Pedro.] — I did never think that lady would have loved any man. 

Leon. No, nor I neither ; but most wonderful, that she should so 
dote on signior Benedick, whom she hath in all out\\^.rd behaviors 
seemed ever to abhor. 

Bene. Is't possible ? Sits the wind in that corner ? [Aside. 

Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it ; but 
that she loves him with an enraged affection, — it is past the infinite 
of thought. 

D. Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit. 

Claud. 'Faith, like enough. 

Leon. Counterfeit ! There never was counterfeit of passion came 
eo near the life of passion, as she discovers it. 

D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she ? 

Claud. Bait the hook well ; this fish will bite. [Aside. 

Leon. Wliat effects, my lord ! She will sit you, — 
You heard my daughter tell you how. 
Claud. She did, indeed. 

D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you ? You amaze me : I would 
have thought her spirit had been invincible against all assaults of 
affection. 

Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord ; especially against 
Benedick. 

Bene. [Aside.] — I should think this a gull, but that the white- 
bearded fellow speaks it ; knavery cannot, sure, hide itself in such 
reverence. 

Claud. He hath ta'en the infection ; hold it up. [Aside. 

D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Benedick ? 

Leon. No ; and swears she never will : that's her torment. 
Claud. 'Tis true, indeed ; so your daughter says : Shall /, says 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 63 

she, iliat have so oft encountered ttim with scorn, write to him that I 
love hiin ? 

Leon. This says she now when she is beginning to write to him : 
for she'll be up twenty times a night : and there will she sit till she 
have writ a sheet of paper : — my daughter tells us all. Then she 
will tear the letter into a thousand half-pence ; rail at herself, that 
she should write to one that she knew would flout her : / measure 
him, says she, hy my own spirit ; for I would flout him, if he writ to 
me ; yea, though I love him, I should. 

Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats 
her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses ; — O sweet Benedick ! 

Leon. She doth indeed ; my daughter says so : and the ecstasy 
hath so much overborne her, that my daughter is sometimes afraid 
she will do a desperate outrage to herself: It is very true. 

D. Pedro. It were good, that Benedick knew of it by some other, 
if she will not discover it. 

Claud. To what end ? He would but make a sport of it, and 
torment the poor lady worse. 

D. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to hang him : She's an 
excellent sweet lady ; and, out of all suspicion, she is virtuous. 

Claud. And she is exceeding wise. 

D. Pedro. In every thing, but in loving Benedick. 

Leon. I am sorry for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle 
and her guardian. 

Z>. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage on me ; I would 
have daff' d all other respects, and made her half myself: I pray you, 
tell Benedick of it, and hear what he will say. 

Leon. Were it good, think you ? 

Claud. Hero thinks surely, she will die; for she says, she will 
die if he love her not ; and she will die ere she makes her love 
known : and she will die if he woo her, rather than she will 'bate 
one breadth of her accustomed crossness. 

D. Pedro. She doth well : if she should make tender of her love, 
'tis very possible he'll scorn it : for the man, as you know all, hath a 
contemptuous spirit. 

Claud. He is a very proper man. 

D. Pedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward happiness. 

Claud. And in my mind, very wise. 

D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks that are like vdt. 

Leon. And I take him to be valiant. 

D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you ; and in the managing of 
quarrels you may say he is wise ; for either he avoids them with 
great discretion, or undertakes them with a most Christian-like 
fear. Well, I am sorry for your niece : Shall we go see Benedick, 
and tell him of her love ? 

Claud. Never tell him, my lord ; let her wear it out with good 
counsel. 

Leon. Nay, that's im.p.ossible ; she may wear her heart out first. 



64 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

D. Pedro. Well, we'll hear further of it by your daughter : let it 
cool the while. I love Benedick well : and I could wish he would 
modestly examine himself to see how much he is unworthy so good 
a lady. 

Leon. My lord, will you walk ? dinner is ready. 

Claud. If he do not doat on her upon this, I will never trust my 
expectation. \^Aside. 

D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for her : and that 
must your daughter, and her gentlew^oman carry. The sport will 
be, when they hold one an opinion of another's dotage, and no such 
matter ; that's the scene that I would see, which will be merely a 
dumb show. Let us send her to call him to dinner. [^Aside. 

[Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato. 

Benedick advances from the arhor. 
Bene. This can be no trick : The conference was sadly borne. — 
They have the truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the 
lady ; it seems, her affections have their full bent. Love me ! why, 
it must be requited. I hear how I am censured : they say, I will 
bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from her ; they say 
too, that she will rather die than give any sign of affection. — I did 
never think to marry — I must not seem proud : — Happy are they 
that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending. They 
say, the lady is fair ; 'tis a truth, I can bear them witness : and vir- 
tuous — 'tis so, I cannot reprove it ; and wise, but for loving me : — 
By my troth, it is no addition to her wit ; — nor no great argument 
of her folly, for 1 will be horribly in love with her. — I may chance 
have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I 
have railed so long against marriage : But doth not the appetite 
alter ? A man loves the meat in his youth, that he cannot endure 
in his age : Shall quips, and sentences, and these paper bullets of the 
brain, awe a man from the career of his humor ? No : When I 
said, I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were 
married. — Here comes Beatrice : By this day, she's a fair lady : I do 
spy some marks of love in her. 

Enter Beatrice. 

Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid you come in to dinner. 

Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. 

Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks, than you take pains 
to thank me ; if it had been painful, I would not have come. 

Bene. You take pleasure then in the message ? 

Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's point, 
and choke a daw withal : — You have no stomach, signior ; fare you 
well. ^ [Exit. 

Bene. Ha ! Against my will I am sent to hid you come to dinner 
—there's a double meaning in that. I took no more pains for those 
thanks, than you took pains to thank me — that's as much as to say, 
Any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks : — If I do not take 
pity of her, I am a villain ; if I do not love her, I am a Jew : I will 
go get her picture. [Exit. 



MUCH ADO ABOCT .NOTHING. 65 

ACT III. 

SCENE I. — Leonato's Garden. 
EvJer Hero. Margaret, and Ursula. 

Hero. Good Margaret, run thee into the parlor ; 
There thou shalt find my coii.^in Beatrice 
Proposing with the prince and Claudio : 
Whisper her ear, and tell her. I and Ursula 
Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse 
Is all of her ; say, that thou overheard'st us ; 
And hid her steal into the pleached bower, 
Where honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun, 
Forbid the sun to enter ; — like favorites, 
Made proud by princes, that advance their pride 
Against that power that bred it :-^there will she hide her, 
To listen our purpose : This is thy office. 
Bear thee w^eL in it, and leave us alone. 

Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently. \_Exit. 

Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come, 
As vre do trace this alley up and down, 
Our talk must only be of Benedick ; 
When I do name him, let it be thy part 
To praise him more than ever man did merit : 
My talk to thee must be, how Benedick 
Is sick in love with Beatrice : Of this matter 
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made, 
That only wounds by hear-say. Now begin ; 

Enter Beatrice, behind. 
For look where Beatrice, hke a lapwing, runs 
Close by the ground, to hear our conference. 

Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish 
Cat with her golden oars the silver stream. 
And greedily devour the treacherous bait : 
So angle we for Beatrice ; who even nov/ 
Is couched in the woodbine coverture : 
Fear you not my part of the dialogue. 

Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing 
Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. — 

[TJiey advance to the bower. 
No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful : 
I know, her spirits are as coy and wild 
As haggards* of the rock. 

Urs. But are 3'ou sure 

That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely ? 

Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed lord. 

* A specie.^ of hawks 



66 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

U7's And did they bid you tell her of it, madam ? 

Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it : 
But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick, 
To wish him wrestle with affection, 
And never to let Beatrice know of it. 

[Jrs. Wliy did you so ? 

Hero. Nature never framed a woman's heart 
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice : 
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, 
Misprising what they look on ; and her wit 
Values itself so highly, that to her 
All matter else seems w^eak : she cannot love, 
Nor take no shape nor project of affection, 
She is so self-endeared. 

Urs. Sure, I think so ; 

And therefore, certainly, it were not good 
She knew his love, lest she make sport at it. 

Hero. Why, you speak truth : T never yet saw man. 
How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd. 
But she would spell him backward : if fair-faced, 
She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister ; 
If black, why, nature, drawing of an antic, 
Made a foul blot : if tall, a lance ill-headed ; 
If lov\^, an agate very vilely cut : 
If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds ; 
If silent, why, a block moved with none. 
So turns she every man the wrong side out : 
And never gives to truth and virtue, that 
Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. 

Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable. 

Hero. No : not to be so odd, and from all fashions. 
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable : 
But who dare tell her so ? If I should speak, 
She'd mock me into air ; O, she w^ould laugh me 
Out of myself, press me to death with wit. 
Theretbre let Benedick, like covered fire. 
Consume away in sighs, w^aste inwardly : 
It were a better death than die with mocks. 

f/rs. Yet tell her of it ; hear what she will say. 

Hero. No ; rather I will go to Benedick, 
And counsel him to fight against his passion : 
And, truly, I'll devise some hunest slanders 
To stain my cousin with : One doth not know, - 
How much an ill word may empoison liking. 

Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wTong. 
She cannot be so much without true judgment, 
(Having so swift and excellent a wit, 
As she is priz'd to have,) as to refuse 
So rare a gentleman as signior Benedick. 



li 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 67 

Hero. He is the only man of Italy, 
Always excepted my dear Claudio. 

Urs. I pray you. be not angry with me, madam, 
Speaking my fancy ; signior Benedick, 
For shape, for bearing, argument, and valor, 
Goes foremost in report through Italy. 

Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name. 

Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. — 
When are you married, madam ? 

Hero. Why, every day ; — to-morrow : Come, go in ; 
I'll show thee some attires ; and have thy counsel. 
Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. 

Urs. She's lim'd, I warrant you ; we have caught her, madam. 

Hero. If it proves so, then lo\ing goes by haps : 
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. 

[^Exeunt Hero and Ursula. 

Beatrice advances. 

Beat. What fire is in my ears ? Can this be true ? 

Stand I condemned for pride and scorn so much ? 
Contempt, farewell ! and maiden pride, adieu ! 

No glory lives behind the back of such. 
And Benedick, love on, I will requite thee ; 

Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand ; 
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee 

To bind our loves up in a holy band : 
For others say, thou dost deserve ; and I 
Believe it better than reportingiy. [Exit. 

Beatrice and Benedick are successfully played upon, and a mutual affection grows up 
between them. 

A double plot is now developed. Don John, brother to Pedro, an envious, dis- 
contented man, is jealous of Claudio's interest with the Prince, and determines to revenge 
himself. For this purpose he plans with his servant, Borachio, to throw suspicion on the 
character of Hero. Don John undertakes to place the Prince and Claudio within hearing, 
near Hero's chamber window, while Borachio addresses Margaret, Hero's waiting woman, 
by the name of her mistress, while she returns the greeting most familiarly. 

Borachio, returning from this interview, meets his fell ,w servant, C^ nracle, to whom 
he discloses the business he had been engaged in. They are overheard by the city watch, 
and are taken in custody. 

The following scene introduces one of Shakspeare's most celebrated characters. 
Dogberry, the constable, is a masterpiece of humor, — the type of a class, the ignorant 
supercilious *' Jack in office." 

SCENE III.— A Street. 
Enter Dogberry and Verges, wiiJi the Watch. 
Dogh. Are you good men and true ? 

Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should siiiier salvation, 
Dody and soul. 



SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they 
should have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the prince's 
watch. 

Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbor Dogberry. 

Dogb. First, v;ho think you the most desartless man to be con- 
stable ? 

1st Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal ; for they can 
write and read. 

Dogb. Come hither, neighbor Seacoal : Heaven hath blessed you 
with a good name : to be a well-favored man is the gift of fortune ; 
but to write and read comes by nature. 

2nd Watch. Both which, master constable, 

Dogb. You have ; I knew it would be your answ^er. Well, for 
your favor, sir, why, give Heaven thanks, and make no boast of it ; 
and for your writing and reading, let that appear when there is no 
need of such vanity. You are thought here to be the most senseless 
and fit man for the constable of the w^atch, therefore bear you the 
lantern : This is your charge ; You shall comprehend all vagrom 
men ; you are to bid any man stand, in the prince's name. 

2nd Watch. How if he will not stand ? 

Dogb. Why, then, take no note of him, but let him go ; and 
presently call the rest of the w^atch together, and thank Heaven you 
are rid of a knave. 

Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the 
prince's subjects. 

Dogb. True, and they are to meddle w^ith none but the prince's 
subjects : — You shall also make no noise in the streets ; for, for the 
watch to babble and talk, is most tolerable and not to be endured. 

27id Watch. We v/ill rather sleep than talk ; we know what belongs 
to a w^atch. 

Dogb. Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet w^atchman ; 
for I cannot see how sleeping should offend : only, have a care that 
your bills be not stolen : — Well, you are to call at all the ale-houses, 
and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. 

2nd Watch How if they will not ? 

Dogb. Why then, let them alone till they are sober ; if they make 
you not then the better answer, you may say they are not the men 
you took them for. 

2nd Watch. Well, sir. 

Dogb. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your 
office, to be no true man : and for such kind of men, the less you 
meddle or make with them, w^hy, the more is for your honesty. 

2nd Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands 



on nim 



? 



Dogb. Truly, by your office, you may ; but, I think, they that 
touch pitch will be defiled : the most peaceable way for you, if you 
do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is, and steal out 
of your company. 

Verg. You have been always called a merciful man. partner. 



i[ 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 69 

Dogh. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will ; much more a 
*man who hath any honesty in him. 

Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the 
nurse, and bid her still it. 

272d Wa^ch. How if the nurse be asleep, and will not hear us ? 

Dogh, Why, then, depart in peace, and let the child wake her with 
crying ; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes, will 
never answer a calf when he bleats. 

Verg. 'Tis very true. 

Dogh. This is the end of the charge. You, constable, are to pre- 
sent the prince's own person ; if you meet the prince in the night, 
you may stay him. • 

Verg. Nay, by'r lady, that, I think, he cannot. 

Dogh. Five shillings to one on't, \^dth any man that knows the 
statues, he may stay him : marry, not without the prince be willing : 
for, indeed, the watch ought to offend no man ; and it is an offence 
to stay a man against his A\'ill. 

Verg. By'r lady, I think it be so. 

Dogh. Ha, ha, ha ! Well, masters, good night : an there be any 
matter of weight chances, call up me : keep your fellows' counsels 
and your own, and good night. — Come, neighbor. 

2nd Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge : let us go sit here 
upon the church-bench till two, and then all to bed. 

Dogh. One word more, honest neighbors : I pray you, watch about 
signior Leonato's door ; for the wedding being there to-morrow^, 
there is a great coil to-night : Adieu, be \igilant, I beseech you. 

[Exeunt DoGBERRy and Verges. 

Enter Borachio and Conrade. 

Bora. What ! Conrade, — 

Watch. Peace, stir not. [Aside. 

Bora. Conrade, I say ! 

Con. Here, man, I am at thy elbow. 

Bora. Stand thee close then under this pent-house, for it drizzles 
rain ; and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee. 

Watch. [Aside.'] — Some treason, masters ; yet stand close. 

Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don John a thousand 
ducats. 

Con. Is it possible that any villany should be so dear ? 

Bora. Thou should'st rather ask, if it were possible any villany 
should be so rich ; for when rich villains have need of poor ones, 
poor ones may make what price they will. 

Con. I wonder at it. 

Bora. That shows, thou art unconfirmed : Thou knowest, that the 
fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, is nothing to a man. 

Con. Yes, it is apparel. 

Bora. I mean, the fashion. 

Con. Yes. the fashion is the fashion. 



70 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Bora. Tush ! I may as well say, the fool's the fool. But seeat 
thou not what a deformed thief this fashion is ? 

Wa'cli. I know^ that Deformed ; he has been a vile thief this seven 
year ; he goes up and down like a gentleman : I remember his name. 

[Aside. 

Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody ? 

Co7i. No ; 'twas the vane on the house. 

Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is ? 
how giddily he turns about all the hot bloods, between fourteen and 
five and thirty ? 

Con. All this I see ; and see, that the fashion wears out more 
apparel than the man : But art not thou thyself giddy w^ith the fashion 
too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telUng me of the 
fashion ? 

Bora. Not so neither, but know, that I have to-night wooed Mar- 
garet, the lady Hero's gentlewoman, by the name of Hero ; she leans 
me out at her mistress' chamber window, bids me a thousand times 
good night, — I tell this tale \dlely : — I should first tell thee how the 
prince, Claudio, and my master, planted, and placed, and possessed by 
my master Don John, saw afar oif in the orchard this amiable en- 
counter. 

Con. And thought they, Margaret was Hero ? 

Bora. Two of them did, the prince and Claudio, but my master 
knew she was Margaret ; and partly by his oaths, which first pos- 
sessed them, partly by the dark night, v/hich did deceive them, but 
chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any slander that Don John 
had made, away \vent Claudio enraged ; sw^ore he would meet her as 
he was appointed, next morning at the temple, and there, before the 
whole congregation, shame her with what he saw over-night, and 
send her home again without a husband. 

I si Watch. We charge you in the prince's name, stand. 

2nd Watch. Call up the right master constable : w^e have here re- 
covered the most dangerous piece of villany that ever was known in 
the commonwealth. 

1st Watch. And one Deformed is one of them. 

Con. Masters, masters. 

2nd Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you. 

Con. Masters, — 

1st Watch. Never speak ; we charge you, let us obey you to go 
w^ith us. 

Bora. We are likely to prove a goodly commodity, being taken up 
of these men's bills. 

Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we'll I 
obey you. [Eocit, . 



MUCH ADO ABOUX NOTHING. 71 

ACT IV. 

Claudio, deceived by the machinations of Don John, believes Hero to be nnfaithfui. 

On the day appointed for the marriage, he attends in the church, and, before the 
assembled guests, denounces Hero as being false, and ^efu^es to marry her — Hero swoons 
on hearing the charge, and Claudjo and his friends retire. The Priest or Friar engaged 
to perform the nuptial ceremony, interferes to appease the wrath of Leonato. 

ErUer Friar, Hero, Leoxato. Benedick, and Beatrice. 

Friar. Hear me a little ; 
For I have only been silent so long, 
And given way unto this course of fortune. 
By noting of the lady ; I have mark'd 
A thousand blushing apparitions start 
Into her face ; a thousand innocent shames 
In angel witnesses bear away those blushes; 
And in her eye there hath appear'd a hre. 
To burn the errors that these princes hold 
Against her maiden truth : — Call me a fool ; 
Trust not my reading, nor my obsen-ations, 
Which with experimental zeal doth warrant 
The tenor of my book ; trust not my age. 
My reverence, calling, nor di\inity, 
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here 
Under some biting error. 

Leon. Friar, it cannot be : 

Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left, 
Is, that she will not add to her damnation 
A sin of perjury ; she not denies it : 
Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse 
That which appears in proper nakedness ? 

Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of? 

Hero. They know, that do accuse me ; I know none: 
If I know more of any man alive. 
Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, 
Let all my sins lack mercy ! — O my father, 
Prove you that any man with me convers'd 
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight 
Maintained the change of words with any creature, 
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death. 

Friar. There is some strange misprision in the princes. 

Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honor; 
And if their wisdoms be misled in this. 
The practice of it lives in John the bastard. 
Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies. 

Leon. I know not ; If they speak but truth of her, 
These hands shall tear her ; if they wrong her honor. 
The proudest of them shall well hear of it. 
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine. 



72 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Nor age so eat up my invention, 
Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, 
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, 
But they sliall find, awak'd in such a Idnd, 
Both strength of limb, and policy of mind, 
Ability in means, and choice of friends. 
To quit me of them thoro\ighly. 

Friaj\ Pause a while, 

And let my counsel sway you in this case. 
Your daughter here the princes left for dead ; 
Let her awhile be secretly kept in, 
And publish it that she is dead indeed : 
Maintain a mourning ostentation ; 
And on your family's old monument 
Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites 
That appertain unto a burial. 

Leon. What shall become of this ? What will this do ? 

Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her behalf 
Change slander to remorse ; that is some good : 
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd. 
Upon the instant that she was accus'd, 
Shall be lamented, pitied, and excus'd. 
Of every hearer : For it so falls out. 
That what we have we prize not to the worth. 
Whiles we enjoy it ; but being lack'd and lost. 
Why, then we rack the value, then we find 
The virtue, that possession would not show us 
Whiles it was ours : So will it fare witli Claudio : 
When he shall hear she died upon his words, 
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep 
Into his study of imagination ; 
And every lovely organ of her life 
Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit, 
More moving-dehcate, and full of life. 
Into the eye and prospect of his soul. 
Than when she lived indeed : — then shall he mourn, 
And wish he had not so accus'd her ; 
No, though he thought his accusation true. 
Let this be so, and doubt not but success 
Will fashion the event in better shape 
Than I can lay it down in hkelihood. 
But if all aim but this be levell'd false, 
The supposition of the lady's death 
Will quench the wonder of her infamy : 
And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her 
(As best befits her wounded reputation,) 
In some reclusive and religious life. 
Out of all ey \ tongues, minds, and injuries. 

Bene. Sig . -yv lieonato, let the friar advise you: 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 73 I 

And thoufi^h, you know, my inwardness and love 

Is very much unto the prince and Claudio, ■ 

Yet, by mine honor. I will deal in this i 

As secretly and justly as your soul I 

Should with your bo3y. 

Leon. Being that I flow in grief, '; 

The smallest twine may lead me. I 
Friar. 'Tis well consented ; presently away ; 

For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure. — ji 
Come, lady, die to live ; this wedding day, ' ] 
Perhaps, is but prolong'd ; have patience, and endure. 

[Exeunt Friar, Hero, and Leonato. j 
Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all thiis while ? 

Beat. Yea, and I will weep awhile longer. ^ 

Bene. I will not desire that. : 

Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely. j 

Bene. Surely, I do beheve your fair cousin is wrong'd. 5 

Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would j 

right her. j 

Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship ? ] 

Beat. A very even way, but no such friend. '^. 
Bene. May a man do it ? 

Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. ', 

Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as you ; Is not that \ 

strange ? 

Beat. As strange as the thing I know not : It were as possible for ] 

me to say, I loved nothing so well as you : but beheve me not ; and i 

yet I lie not ; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing : — I am sorry for 

my cousin. 

I Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. j 

Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it. j 
Bene. I will swear by it, that you love me ; and I will make him 

eat it, that says, I love not you. < 
Beat. Will you not eat your word ? 

Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it : I protest, I love i 

thee. • 

Beat. Why then. Heaven forgive me ! ' 

Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice ? \ 

Beat. You have staid me in a happy hour; I was about to pro- \ 

' test I loved you. - 
Bene. And do it with all thy heart. 

Beat. I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to ^ 
protest. 

Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. 1 

Beat. KiU Claudio. ^ 
Benx. Ha ! not for the wide world. 

Beat. You kill me to deny it : Farewell. i 

Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. ' 
Beat. I am gone, though I am here ; — There is no love in you : — 

5 '. 



74 SHAKSPEAUIAN READER. 

Nay, 1 pray you, let me go. 

Bene. Beatrice, — 

Beat. In faith, I will go. 

Bene. We'll be friends first. 

Beat. You dare easier be friends with me, than fight with mine 
enemy. 

Bene. Is Clandio thine enemy ? 

Beat. Is he not approved in the height a \illain, that hath slan- 
dered, scorned, dishonored my kinswoman ? — O, that I were a man ! 
— What ! bear her in hand until they come to take hands ; and then 
with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancor.— O 
Heaven, that I were a man ! I w^ould eat his heart in the market- 
place. 

Bene. Hear me, Beatrice ; — 

Beat. Talk with a man out at a window ? — a proper saying. 

Bene. Nay but, Beatrice ; — 

Beat. Sweet Hero ! — she is \vronged, she is slandered, she is undone. 

Bene. Beat — 

Beat. Princes, and counties ? Surely, a princely testimony, a 
goodly count-confect ; a sweet gallant, surely ! O that I were a man 
for his sake ! or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake ! 
But manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into compliment, and 
men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too : he is now as 
valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie, and swears it : — I cannot be 
a man with wisliing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving. 

Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice : By this hand, I love thee. 

Beat. Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it. 

Bene. Think you in vour soul the count Claudio hath virronged I 
Hero? 

Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a soul. 

Bene. Enough, I am engaged, I will challenge him ; I will kiss 
your hand, and so leave you : By this hand, Claudio shall render me 
a dear account : As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort' 
your cousin : I must say, she is dead ; and so, farewell. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— A Prison. 

Enter Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton, in gowns ; and the Watch,; 
with CoNRADE and Borachio. 

Dogh. Is our whole dissembly appeared ? 

Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton ! 

Sexton. Which be the malefactors ? 

Dogh. Marry, that am I and my partner. 

Verg. Nay, that's certain ; we have the exliibition to examine. 

Sexton. But 'vhich are the offenders that are to be examined 
let them come before master constable. ■ r, 

Dogh. Yea, marry, let them come before me. — What is youilj^ 
name, friend ? I ?■ 

Bora. Borachio. I .f^ 



in 
■ft 
r> 

h 

<«9, 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 75 

Dogh. Pray write down — Borachio. Yours, sin-ah ? 

Co7i. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade. 

Dogh. Write down — master gentleman Conrade. — Masters, it is 
proved already that you are little better than false knaves ; and it will 
go near to be thought so shortly. How answer you for yourselves ? 

Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none. 

Dogh. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you ; but I will go 
about with him. — Come you hither, sirrah ; a word in your ear, sir ; 
I say to you, it is thought you are false knaves. 

Bora. Sir, I say to you, we are none. 

Dogh, Well, stand aside. — They are both in a tale : Have you 
writ down — that they are none ? 

Sexton. Master constable, you go not the way to examine ; you 
must call forth the watch that are their accusers. 

Dogh. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way : Let the watch come 
forth : Masters, I charge you, in the prince's name, accuse these 
men. 

\st Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the prince's brother, 
was a villain. 

Dogh. Write down — prince John a villain : — ^Why this is flat per- 
jury, to call a prince's brother — villain. 

Bora. Master constable, — 

Dogh. Pray thee, fellow, peace ; I do not like thy look, I promise 
thee. 

Sexton. What heard you him say else ? 

'2nd Watch. Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of 
Don John, for accusing the lady Hero wrongfully. 

Dogh. Flat burglary, as ever was committed. 

Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is. 

Sexton. What else, fellow ? 

\st Watch. And that count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to 
disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and not marry her. 

Dogh. O villain ! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemp- 
tion for this. 

Sexton. What else ? 

2nd Watch. This is all. 

Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you can deny. Prince 
John is this morning secretly stolen away ; Hero was in this manner 
I accused, in this very manner refused, and upon the grief of this, 
suddenly died. — Master constable, let these men be bound, and 
brought to Leonato's ; I will go before and show him their examina- 
tion. [Exit. 

Dogh. Come, let them be opinioned. 

Verg. Let them be in band. 

Con. Off, coxcomb ! 

Dogh. Where's the sexton ? let him write down — the prince's 
officer, coxcomb. — Come, bind them : — Thou naughty varlet ! 
Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass. 
Dogh. Dost thou not suspect my place ? Dost thou not suspect 



76 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

my years : — O that he were here to write me down — an ass ! but, 
masters, remember, that I am an ass ; though it be not written down, 
yet forget not that I am an ass : — No, thou villain, thou art full of 
piety, as shall be proved upon tliee by good witness. I am a wise 
fellow ; and, which is more, an officer ; and, which is more, a house- 
holder ; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Mes- 
sina ; and one that knows the law, go to ; and a rich fellow enough, 
go to ; and a fellow that hath had losses ; and one that hath two 
gowns, and every thing handsome about him : Bring him away. O, 
that I had been writ down — an ass ! [Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Hero's innocence is completely established by the confession of Borachio, 

Claudio, on learning how unjustly he had accused his mistress, implores the forgiveness 

ofLeonato, and offers any reparation within his power — supposing that Hero is dead. 

Leonato invites him to come to his House, " to-morrow morning" — and proposes to give 

him the hand of a niece of his, in marriage. Claudio consents. The next Scene winds 

up the story of this incomparable comedy. 

SCENE. — A Roam in Leonato's House. 

Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, Ursula, Friar, 

and Hero. 

Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent ? 

Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who accus'd her, 
Upon the error that you have heard debated : 
But Margaret was in some fault for this ; 
Although against her will, as it appears 
In the true course of all the question. 

Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well. 

Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd 
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. 

Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all, 
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves ; 
And, when I send for you, come hither mask'd ! 
The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour 
To visit me : — Y ou know your office, brother ; 
You must be father to your brother's daughter. 
And give her to young Claudio. [Exeunt Ladies. 

Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance. 

Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. 

Friar. To do what, signior ? 

Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them. — 
Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior, 
Your niece regards me with an eye of favor. 

Leon. That eye my daughter lent her ; 'Tis most true. 

Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her. 

Leon. The sight, whereof, I think, you had from me, 
From Claudio and the prince ; But what's your will '? 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 77 

Bene. Your answer, sir, is enignaatical : 
But. for my will, my will is, your good will 
May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd 
In the estate of honorable marriage ; — 
In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. 

Leon. My heart is with your liking. 

Friar. And my help. 

Here comes the prince, and Claudio. 

Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, icith Attendants. 

D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. 

Leon. Good morrow, prince ; good morrow, Claudio ; 
We here attend you ; Are you yet determin'd 
To-day to marr}^ with my brother's daughter ? 

Claud, ril hold my mind, were she an Ethiop. 

Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar ready. 

[Exit Antonio 

D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick : Why, what's the matter, 
That you have such a February face, 
So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness ? 

Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull : — 
Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold. 

Re-enter Antoxio, loitli tJie Ladies masked. 

Claud. Here come other reckonings. 
Which is the lady I must seize upon'? 

Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her. 

Claud. Wliy, then she's mine : Sweet, let me see vour face. 

Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her hand, 
Before this friar, and swear to marry her. 

Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar ; 
T am your husband, if you like of me. 

Hero. And when I lived, I was your other wife : [Unmasking. 
And w-hen you lov'd, you were my other husband. 

Claud. Another Hero ? 

Hero. Xothinsr certainer ; 

One Hero died defam'd ; but I do ifve. 

D. Pedro. The former Hero ! Hero that is dead ! 

Leon. She died my lord, but whiles her slander lived. 

Friar. All this amazement can I qualify ; 
When, after that the holy rites are ended," 
I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death ; 
Meantime, let wonder seem famihar. 
And to the chapel let us presently. 

Bene. Soft and fair, friar. — Which is Beatrice ? 

Beat. I answer to that name ; '■ Unmasking. 

WTiat is your will ? ~ ^ 

Bene. Do not you love me ? 

Beat. No, no more than reason. 



78 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, and Claudio, 
Have been deceived ; for they swore you did. 

Beat. Do not you love me ? 

Bene. No, no more than reason. 

Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula, 
Are much deceiv'd ; for they swear, you did. 

Bene. They swore that you w^ere almost sick for me. 

Beat. They swore that you w^ere w^ell-nigh dead for me. 

Bene. 'Tis no such matter : — Then you do not love me ? 

Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. 

Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman. 

Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves her : 
For here's a paper, written in his hand, 
A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, 
Fashion'd to Beatrice. 

Hero. And here's another, 

Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket, 
Containing her affection unto Benedick. 

Bene. A miracle ! here's our own hands against our hearts !— 
Come, I will have thee ; but, by this light, I take thee for pity. 

Beat. I would not deny you ; — but, by this good day, I yiekl upon 
great persuasion ; and, partly, to save your life, for I w^as told you 
were in a consumption. 

Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth. [Kissing her. 

D. Pedro. How dost thou. Benedick the married man ? 

Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince ; a college of wit-crackers cannot 
flout me out of my humor : Dost thou think, I care for a satire, or an 
epigram ? No : if a man will be beaten with brains, he shall wear 
nothing handsome about him : In brief, since I do propose to marry, 
I will think nothing to any purpose that the w^orld can say against it ; 
and therefore never flout at me for what I have said against it ; for 
man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion. — ^For thy part, Clau- 
dio, I did think to have beaten thee ; but in that thou art like to be 
my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my cousin. 

Claud. I had w^ell hoped, thou w^ouldst have denied Beatrice, that 
I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a 
double dealer ; w^hich, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do 
not look exceeding narrowly to thee. 

Bene. Come, come, w^e are friends : — let's have a dance ere we 
are married, that we may lighten our own hearts, and our wives' 
heels. 

Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards. 

Bene. First, o' my word ; therefore, play music. — Prince, thou art 
sad ; get thee a wife, get thee a wife. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight, 
And brought with armed men back to Messina. 

Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow; I'll devise thee brave 
punishments for him. — Strike up, pipers. [Dance. Exeunt. 



MACBETH. 



"The traditionary story of Macbeth, on which this Drama is foanded, is related by 
HolUnshed, in his Chronicles, and also by- George Buchanan in his Latin " History of 
Scotland." 

Sjjakspeare is supposed to have availed himself of Hollinshed's uanative in the con- 
struciion of this Play, as the incidents introduced by the Poet, are precisely those narrated 
by the chronicler. The supernatural agency exercised by the Witches, may appear in 
this enlightened age, to be beyond the bounds of credibiUty, but it should be remembered 
that in Shakspeare's time, the belief in witchcraft was universal. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

DuNCA-N, King of Scotland, 

Malcolm, Donalbain, his sons. 

Macbeth, Baxquo, generals of the King's army. 

Macduff, Lexox, Rosse, Menteth, Angus, Cathness, noblemen 

0/ Scotland. 
Fleaxce, son to Banquo. 

SiwARD, Earl of Northumberland, general of the English forces. 
Young SiWAKD, his son. 
Seytox, an officer attending on Macbeth. 
Son to Macduff. 

An English Doctor. A Scotch Doctor. 
A Soldier. A Porter. An old Man. 
Lady Macbeth. 

Lady ]\Iacduff. •^j^ 

Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth. .j :■ 

Hecate, and three Witches. ^< 

Lords, Gentlemen^ Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, Attendants, " 

and Messengers. 
The Ghost of Banquo, and several other apparitions. 1 

SCENE, — in the end of the Fourth Act, lies in England ; through the J 

rest of the Play, in Scotland ; and, chief.y, at Macbeth's Castle. ^\ 



:/,. 



1 



80 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — An open Place. Thunder and Lightning, 
Enter three Witches. 

1st Witch. When shall we three meet again, 
In thunder, lightning, or in rain ? 

2nd Witch. When the hurlyburly's done, 
When the battle's lost and won : 

3rd Witch. That will be ere set of sun. 

1st Witch. Where the place ? 

2nd Witch. Upon the heath : 

Zrd Witch. There to meet with Macbeth. » 

1st Witch. I come, Graymalkin ! -i 

All. Paddock calls : — Anon. — 
Fair is foul, and foul is fair : 
Hover through the fog and filthy air. [Witches vanish, 

SCENE 11. — A Camp near Fores. Alarum within. 

Enter King Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lenox, with Attendants,' 
meeting a bleeding Soldier. 

Dun. What bloody man is that ? He can report. 
As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt 
The newest state. 

Mai. This is the sergeant. 

Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought 
'Gainst my captivity : — Hail, brave friend ! 
Say to the king the knowledge of the broil, 
\s thou didst leave it. 

Sol. Doubtfully it stood ; 

As two spent swimmers, that do cling together, 
And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald 
(Worthy to be a rebel ; for, to that. 
The multiplying villanies of nature 
Do swarm upon him.) from the western isles 
Of Kernes and Gallowglasses is supplied ; 
But all's too weak : 

For brave Macbeth, (well he deserves that name,) 
Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, 
Which smok'd with bloody execution. 
Like valor's minion, 

Carv'd out his passage, till he fac'd the slave ; 
And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, 
Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps, 
And fix'd his head upon our battlements. 

Dun. O, valiant cousin ! worthy gentleman ! 



ii 



MACBETH. 81 I 

Sol. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection I 

Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break ; i 
So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come, 

Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark, \ 

No sooner justice had, with valor arm'd, j 

Compell'd these skipping kernes to trust their heels : i 

But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage, ] 
With furbish'd arms, and new supplies of men. 

Began a fresh assault. i 

Dun. Dismay'd not this j 

Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo ? ■* 

Sol, Yes ; 'i 

As sparrows, eagles ; or the hare, the lion. I 

But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. \\ 

Dun. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds ; | 

They smack of honor both :— Go, get him surgeons. \ 

[Exit Soldier, attended. i 

Enter Rosse. :i 



Who comes here f^ '. 

Mai. The worthy thane of Rosse. 

Len. What a haste looks through his eyes ! So should he look, 
That seems to speak things strange. 

Rosse. God save the king ! , ,; 

Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane ? > ''tl 

Rosse. From Fife, great king, 

Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky. 

And fan our people cold. | 

Norway himself, with terrible numbers, *■ 

Assisted by that most disloyal traitor ^^ 

The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict : \ 

Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof, ? 

Confronted him with self-comparisons, j 

Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm, i 

Curbing his lavish spirit : And, to conclude, I 

The victory fell on us ; 1 

Dun. Great happiness ! 

Rosse. That nov/ .^ 
Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition ; ' 4 

Nor would we deign him burial of his men, -^ 

Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes' inch, > 

Ten thousand dollars to our general use. ^ 

Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive I 

Our bosom interest. — Go, pronounce his present death, | 

And with his former title greet Macbeth. 1 

Rosse. I'll see it done. 

Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won. \ Exeunt. - 

5* i 



82 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

SCENE III.— A Heaih. Thunder. | 

Enter the three Witches. 

\st Witch. Where hast thou been, sister ? 

^nd Witch. Killing swine. 

Zrd Witch. Sister, where thou ? ! 

\st Witch. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, 
And mounch'd and mounch'd and mounch'd ; — Give me, quoth I : i 

Aroint thee, witch I the rump-fed ronyon cries. ; 

Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger : 1 

But in a sieve I'll thither sail, I 

And, like a rat without a tail, j 

I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. 

2nd Witch. I'll give thee a wind. | 

Is^ Witch. Thou art kind. " | 

3rd Witch. And I another. j| 

I st Witch. I myself have all the other : 
And the very ports they blow, I 

All the quarters that they know 
I'the shipman's card. 

I will drain him dry as hay : f 

Sleep shall, neither night nor day, [^ 

Hang upon his pent-house lid ; {; 

He shall live a man forbid : j , 

Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine, i 

Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine : 
Though this bark cannot be lost. 
Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. 
Look what I have. 

2nd Witch. Show me, show me. 

1st Witch. Here I have a pilot's thum, 
Wreck'd as homeward he did come. [Drum within. 

Srd Witch. A drum, a drum : 
Macbeth doth come. 

All. The weird sisters, hand in hand. 
Posters of the sea and land. 
Thus do go about, about ; 
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, 
And thrice again, to make up nine : 
Peace ! — the charm's wound up. 

Enter Macbeth and Banquo. 

Macb, So foul and fair a day I have not seen. 

Ban. How far is't call'd to Fores ? — What are these, i 

So wither 'd, and so wild in their attire ; [. 

That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, | J r 

And yet are on't ? Live you ? or are you aught IT 

That man may question ? You seem to understand me, i I 



MACBETH. 83 I 

By each at once her choppy finger laying \ 
Upon her skinny lips : — You should be women, ^ -j 

And yet your beards forbid me to interpret i 

That you are so. \ 

Macb. Speak, if you can ; — What are you ? ] 

\st Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane of Glamis ! • 
2nd Witch. iVll hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor ! 
^rd Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! that shalt be king hereafter. 

Ban. Good sir, why do you start ; and seem to fear ; 

Things that do sound so fair ? — I' the name of truth, '•; 
Are ye fantastical, or that indeed 
Which outwardly ye show ? My noble partner 

You greet with present grace, and great prediction < 

Of noble having, and of royal hope, \ 

That he seems wrapt withal ; to me you speak not : ' 
If you can look into the seeds of time, 
And say, which grain will grow, and which will not ; 

Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear, -^ 

Your favors, nor your hate. ' f^ 

1st Witch. Hail ! | 

2nd Witch, Hail ! | 

^rd Witch. Hail ! I 

Is^ Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. "I 

2nd Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. ? 

^rd Witch. Thy children shall be kings, though thou be none : j 

So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo ! 'j 

1st Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail ! ;j 

Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more : ; 

By Sinel's death, I know, I am thane of Glamis ; ^ i 

But how of Cawdor ? the thane of Cawdor lives, ' ^ 

A prosperous gentleman ; and, to be king, .] 

Stands not within the prospect of belief, • i 

No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence ''\ 

You owe this strange intelligence ? or why i 

Upon this blasted heath you stop our way \ 

With such prophetic greeting ? — Speak, I charge you. ,^ 

[Witches vanish, I 

Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, .» 

And these are of them : Whither are they vanish'd ? -^ 

Macb. Into the air : and what seem'd corporal, melted ^ 

As breath into the wind. — 'Would they had staid ! ^ 

Ban. Were such things here, as we do speak about ? j 

Or have we eaten of the insane root, 4 

That takes the reason prisoner ? 2 

Macb. Your children shall be kings. 4 

Ban. You shall be king. 

Macb. And thane of Cawdor, too ; went it not so ? ^ 

Ban. To the self-same tune, and words. Who's here ? -* ' 



84 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 



Enter RossE and Angus. 

Rosse. The king hath happily received, Macbeth, 
The news of thy success : and when he reads 
Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, 
His wonders and his praises do contend, 
Which should be thine, or his : Silenc'd with that, 
In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day, 
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks. 
Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, 
Strange images of death. As thick as hail, 
Came post with post; and every one did bear 
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, 
And pour'd them down before him. 

Ang. We are sent, 

To give thee, from our royal master, thanks ; 
To herald thee into his sight, not pay thee. 

Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honor, 
He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor ; 
In which addition, hail, most worthy thane ! 
For it is tliine. 

Ban. What, can the devil speak true ? 

Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives ; Why do you dress me 
In borrowed robes ? 

Ang. Who was the thane, lives yet ; 

But under heavy judgment bears that life 
Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was 
Combin'd with Norway ; or did line the rebel 
With hidden help and vantage ; or that with both 
He labor'd in his country's wreck, I know not 
But treasons capital, confess'd, and prov'd, 
Have overthrown him. 

Macb. Glamis, and thane of Cawdor : 

The greatest is behind. — Thanks for your pains. — 
Do you not hope your children shall be kings, 
When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me, 
Promis'd no less to them ? 

Ban. That, trusted home. 

Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, 
Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange : 
And oftentimes to win us to our harm, 
The instruments of darkness tell us truths ; 
Win us with honest trifles, to betray us 
In deepest consequences. — 
Cousins, a word, I pray you. 

Macb. Two truths are told. 

As happy prologues to the swelling act 
Of the imperial theme. — I thank you, gentlemen. — 
This supernatural soliciting 



MACBETH. Sft 

Cannot be ill ; cannot be good : — If ill, 
Why hath it given me earnest of success, 
Commencing in a truth ? I. am thane of Cawdor : 
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion 
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, 
And make m.y seated heart knock at my ribs, 
Against the use of nature ? Present fears 
Are less than horrible imaginings : 
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, 
Shakes so my single state of man, that function 
Is smother'd in ^rmise ; and nothing is, 
But what is not. 

Ban. Look, how our partner's rapt. 

Mach. If chance ^^-ill have me king, why, chance may crown me, 
Without my stir. 

Ban. New honors come upon him 

Like our strange garments ; cleave not to their mould, 
But with the aid of use. 

Macb. Come what come may ; 

Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. 

Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. 

Macb. Give me your favor : — my dull brain was wrought 
With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains 
Are register'd where every day I turn 
The leaf to read them. — Let us toward the king. — 
Think upon what hath chanc'd ; and, at more time. 
The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak 
Our free hearts each to other. 

Ban. Ver}' gladly. 

Macb. Till then, enough. — Come, friends. [Exewat. 

Macbeth goes to Fores to pay his duty to King Duncan, who confirms him in his title 
of Thane of Cawdor, and as a farther proof of the royal favor, the King announces his 
intention of visiting Macbeth at his Castle in Inverness. Macbeth leaves the King to be 
the " harbinger" of the monarch's proposed visit. 

The Scene changes to the Castle of Macbeth, and Lady Macbeth enters, reading a 
Letter she has just received from her husband. 

SCENE V. 
Inverness. A Room in Macbeth's Castle. 

Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter. 
Lady M. They met me in the day of success ; and I have learned 
by the perfectest report, they have more in them than mortal knoivledge. 
When I burned in desire to question them further, they made them- 
selves — air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the 
wonder of it, came missives from the king, who all-hailed me, Thane 
of Cawdor ; by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me. and 
referred me to tJie coming on of time, with, Hail, king that shalt be ' 



86 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of my 
greatness ; that thou mightest not lose the dues of rejoming, by being 
^norant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and 
farewell. 

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor ; and shalt be 

What thou art promis'd :— Yet do I fear thy nature ; 

It is too full o' the milk of human kindness, 

To catch the nearest way. Thou would'st be great ; 

Art not without ambition ; but without 

The illness should attend it. What thou would'st highly, 

That would'st thou holily ; would'st not play false, _ 

And yet would'st wrongly win : thou'dst have, great Glamis, 

That which cries. Thus thou must do, if thou have it ; 

And that which rather thou dost fear to do, 

Thanwishest should be undone. Hie thee hither, 

That 1 may pour my spirits in thine ear ; 

And chastise with the valor of my tongue 

All that impedes thee from the golden round, 

Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem 

To have thee crown'd withal.- What is your tidings ? 

Enter an Attendant. 

Aiten. The king comes here to-night. 

Lady M. Thou'rt mad to say it : 

Is not thy master with him ? who, wer't so. 
Would have inform'd for preparation. 

Aiten. So please you, it is true ; our thane is coming : 
One of my fellows had the speed of him : 
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more 
Than would take up his message. 

Lady M. Give him tending. 

He brings good news. The raven himself is hoarse, 

^ ^ [Exit Attendant 

That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
Under my battlements. Come, come, you spirits 
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here ; 
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full 
Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood. 
Stop up the access and passage to remorse ; 
That no compunctious visitings of nature 
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 
The effect, and it ! Come, you murd'ring ministers, 
Wherever in your sightless substances 
You wait on nature's mischief ! Come, thick night, 
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell ! 
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes ; 
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, 
To cry, Hold^ hold I Great Glamis ! worthy Cawdor ! 



I 



"^^^ MACBETH. 87 

Enter Macbeth. 

Greater than both, by tne ali-hail hereafter ! 
Thy letters have transported me beyond 
This ignorant present, and I feel now 
The future in the instant. 

Macb. My dearest love, 

Duncan comes here to-night. 

Lady M. And when goes hence ? 

Macb. To-morrow, as he purposes. 

Lady M. O, never 

Shall sun that morrow see ! 
Your face, my thane, is as a book, where m.en 
May read strange matters ; — To beguile the time. 
Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye, 
Your hand, your tongue : look like the innocent flower, 
But be the serpent under it. He that's coming 
Must be provided for : and you shall put 
This night's great business into my dispatch ; 
Which shall to all our nights and days to come 
Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. 

Macb. We will speak further. 

Lady M. Only look up clear . 

To alter favor ever is to fear : 
Leave all the rest to me. [Exeunt, 

SCENE \l.— The same. Before the Castle, 

Hautboys. Servants of Macbeth attending. 

Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain', Banquo, Lenox, Macduff, 
RossE, Angus, a n<^ Attendants. 

Dun. The castle hath a pleasant seat ; the air 
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself 
Unto our gentle senses. 

Ban. This guest of summer, , 

The temple-haunting martlet, does approve. 
By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's breath 
Smells wooingly here : no jutty, frieze, buttress. 
No coigne of vantage, but this bird hath made 
His pendent bed, and procreant cradle : Where they 
Most breed and haunt, I have observ'd the air 
Is delicate. 

Enter Lady Macbeth. 

Dun. See, see ! our honor'd hostess ! 

The love that follows us, sometimes is our trouble, 
Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you, 
How you shall bid Heaven yield us for your pains, 
And thank us for vour trouble. 



88 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Lady M. All our service 

In every point twice done, and then done double. 
Were poor and single business to contend 
Against those honors deep and broad, where w^ith 
Your majesty loads our house : For those of old, 
And the late dignities heap'd up to them, 
We rest your hermits. 

Dun. Where's the thane of Cawdor ? 

We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose 
To be his purveyor : but he rides well ; 
And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him 
To his home before us : Fair and noble hostess, 
We are your guest to-night. 

Lady M. Your servants ever 

Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in compt, 
To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, 
Still to return your own. 

Dun. Give me your hand : 

Conduct me to mine host ; we love him highly, 
And shall continue our graces towards him. 
By your leave, hostess. [Exeunt. 

SCENE Vn. — The same. A Room in the Castle. 

Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over the stage, a Sewer, and 
divers Servants with dishes and service. Then enter Macbeth. 

Macb. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well 
It were done quickly : If the assassination 
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, 
With his surcease, success ; that but this blow 
Might be the be-all and the end-all here, 
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — 
We'd jump the life to come. — But in these cases, 
We still have judgment here ; that w^e but teach 
^Bloody instructions, which being taught, return 
To plague the inventor : This even-handed justice 
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chaUce 
To our own lips. He's here in double trust : 
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, 
Strong both against the deed : then, as his host, 
Who should against his murderer shut the door, 
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 
So clear in his great oi!ice. that his virtues 
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against 
The deep damnation of his taking-olF: 
And pity, like a naked new-born babe. 
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, hors'd 
Upon the sightless couriers of the air. 



MACBETH. 89 

Shall b.ow the horrid deed in every eye, 
That tears shall drown the wind. — I have no spur 
To goad the sides of my intent, but only 
Vaulting ambition, which o'er-leaps itself, 
And falls on the other. — How now, what news ? 

Enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady M. He has almost supp'd ; Why have you left the chamber ? 

Macb. Hath he ask'd for me ? 

Lady M. Know you not, he has ? 

Macb. We will proceed no further in this business : 
He hath honor'd me of late ; and I have bought 
Golden opinions from all sorts of people. 
Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, 
Not cast aside so soon. 

Lady M. Was the hope drunk, 

Wherein you dress'd yourself ? hath it slept since ? 
And wakes it now, to look so gTeen and pale 
At what it did so freely ? From this time, 
Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard 
To be the same in thine own act and valor, 
As thou art in desire ? Would'st thou have that 
Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, 
And live a coward in thine own esteem ; 
Letting I dare not wait upon I would. 
Like the poor cat i^ the adage ? 

Alacb. Pr'3rthee, peace : 

I dare do all that may becom.e a man ; 
Who dares do more, is none. 

Lady M. What beast was it then, 

That made you break this enterprise to me ? 
When you durst do it, then you were a man ; 
And, to be more than w^hat you were, you would 
Be so much more the man. Nor time, nor place, 
Did then adhere, and yet you w^ould make both : 
They have made themselves, and that their fitness now 
Does unmake you. 

Macb. If we should fail, 

Lady M. We fail ! 

But screw your courage to the sticking place, 
And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep, 
(Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey 
Soundly invite him,) his two chamberlains 
Will I with wine and wassel so con\dnce, 
That memory, the warder of the brain. 
Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason 
A limbeck* only : When in swinish sleep, 

* From Alembic, a still. 



90 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Their drenched natures lie, as in a death, 
What cannot you and I perform upon 
The unguarded Duncan ? what not put upon 
His spongy officers ; who shall bear the guilt 
Of our great quell ?* 

Macb, Will it not be receiv'd, 

When w^e have mark'd with blood those sleepy two 
Of his own chamber, and us'd their very daggers, 
That they have done 't? 

Lady M. Who dares receive it other, 

As we shall make our griefs and clamor roar 
Upon his death ? 

Macb. I am settled, and bend up 

Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. 
Away, and mock tlie time with fairest show : 
False face must hide what the false heart doth Imow. [Exeunt 

ACT II. 

SCENE I. — Tlie same. Court within the Castle. 

Enter Banquo and Fleance, a7id a Servant with a torch before 

them. 

Ban. How goes the night, boy ? 

Fie. The moon is down ; I have not heard the clock. 

Ban. And she goes down at twelve. 

Fie. I take't, 'tis later, sir. 

Ban. Hold, take my sword. — There's husbandry in heaven, 
Their candles are all out. — Take thee that too. 
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me. 
And yet I would not sleep : Merciful powers ! 
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts, that nature 
Gives way to in repose ! — Give me my sword ; — 

Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch. 

Who's there ? 

Macb. A friend. 

Ban. What, sir, not yet at rest ? The king's a-bed : 
He hath been in unusual pleasure, and 
Sent forth great largess to your offices : 
This diamond he greets your wife withal, 
By the name of most kind hostess ; and shut up 
In measureless content. 

Macb. Being unprepar'd. 

Our will became the servant to defect ; 
Which else should free have wrought. 

Ban. All's welL 

* Murder. 



MACBETH. 91 

I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters : 
To you they have show'd some truth. 

Mach. I think not of them : 

Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve. 
Would spend it in some words upon that business. 
If you would grant the time. 

Ban. At your kind'st leisure. 

Mach. If you shall cleave to my consent, — when 'tis, 
It shall make honor for you. 

Ban. So I lose none, 

In seeking to augment it, but still keep 
My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear, 
I shall be counsel'd. 

Mach. Good repose, the while ! 

Ban. Thanks, sir : The like to you ! [Exit Ban. 

Mach. Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, 
She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. [Exit Serv. 

Is this a dagger, which I see before me, 

The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch thee : 

I have ihee not, and yet I see thee still. 

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 

To feeling, as to sight ? or art thou but 

A dagger of the mind ; a false creation, 

Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? 

I see thee yet, in form as palpable 

As this which now I draw. 

Thou marshal'st me the way that T was going ; 

And such an instrument I was to use. 

Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, 

Or else worth all the rest : I see thee still ; 

And on thy blade, and dudgeon, gouts of blood. 

Which was not so before. — There's no such thmg : 

It is the bloody business, which informs 

Thus to mine eyes. — Now o'er the one half world 

Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 

The curtain'd sleep ; now witchcraft celebrates 

Pale Hecate's offerings ; and wither'd murder, 

Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, 

Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, 

With Tarquin's ravishing strides, toward his design 

Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm set earth, 

Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 

Thy very stones prate of my where-about, 

x\nd take the present horror from the time, 

Which now suits with it. — Whiles I threat, he lives ; 

Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. [A bell rings, 

I go, and it is done ; the bell invites me ; 

Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell 

That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. [Exit. 



92 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

SCENE Jl.-^The same. 
Enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady M. That which hath made them drunk, hath made me bold : 
What hath quench'd them, hath given me fire. — Hark ! Peace ! 
It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, 
Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it : 
The doors are open ; and the surfeited grooms 
Do mock their charge with snores : I have drugg'd their possets, 
That death and nature do contend about them, 
Whether they live, or die. 

Macb. [ Within.]— Who's there ?— what, ho ! 

Lady M. Alack ! I am afraid they have awak'd. 
And 'tis not done : — the attempt, and not the deed, 
Confounds us : — Hark ! — I laid their daggers ready, 
He could not miss them. — Had he not resembled 
My father as he slept I had done't. — My husband ? 

Enter Macbeth. 

Mach, I have done the deed : — Didst thou not hear a noise ? ' 

Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets cry. 
Did not you speak ? 

Macb. When ? 

Lady M. Now. 

Macb. As I descended ? 

Lady M. Ay. 

Macb. Hark!— 
Who lies i' the second chamber ? 

Lady M. Donalbain. 

Macb. This is a sorry sight. [Looking on his hands. 

Lady M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. 

Macb. There's one did laugh in his sleep, and one cried, murder ! 
That they did wake each other ; I stood and heard them : 
But they did say their prayers, and address'd them 
Again to sleep. 

Lady M. There are two lodg'd together. ' 

Macb. One cried, God bless us ! and. Amen, the other ; 
As they had seen me, with these hangman's hands. 
Listening their fear, I could not say, amen. 
When they did say, God bless us. 

Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. 

Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce, amen ? 
I had most need of blessing, and amen 
Stuck in my throat. 

Lady M. These deeds must not be thought 

After these ways ; so, it will make us mad. 

Macb. Methought, I heard a voice cry, Sleep no mare! 
Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep ; 



^ 



MACBETH. 93 

Sleep, that knits up the ravelVd shave of care ^ 
The death of each day's Ufe, sore labor's bath. 
Balm of hurt minds, great natures second course. 
Chief Jiourisher in life's feast. 

Lady M. What do you mean ? 

Macb. Still it cried, Sleep no more I to all the house : 
Glamis hath murder'd sleep : and therefore Cawdor 
Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more ! 

Lady M. Who was it that thus cried ? Why, worthy thane, 
You do unbend your noble strength, to think 
So brain sickly of things : — Go, get some water. 
And wash this filthy witness from your hand. — 
Why did you bring these daggers from the place ? 
They must lie there : Go, carry them ; and smear 
The sleepy grooms with blood. 

Macb. rn go no more : 

I am afraid to think what I have done ; 
Look on't again. I dare not. 

Lady M. Infirm of purpose ! 

Give me the daggers : The sleeping, and the dead, 
Are but as pictures ; 'tis the eye of childhood, 
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, 
For it must seem their guilt. [Exit. Knocking wiihin, 

Macb. Whence is that knocking ? 

How is't with me, when every noise appals me ? 
What hands are here ? Ha I they pluck out mine eyes ! 
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
Clean from my hand ? No ; this my hand will rathei 
The multitudinous seas incamardine, 
Making the green — one red. 

Re-enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady M. My hands are of your color ; but I shame 
To wear a heart so white. — [Knock.] — I hear a knocking 
At the south entry : — retire we to our chamber. 
A little water clears us of this deed : 
How easy is it then ? Your constancy 

Hath left you unattended. — [Knockiiig.] — Hark ! more knocking : 
Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us, 
And show us to be \vatchers : — Be not lost 
So poorly in your thoughts. 

Macb, To know my deed, — 'twere best not know myself. [Knock. 
Wake Duncan with thy knocking ; Ay, 'would thou could'st ! 

[Exeunt 

Enter Macduff, Lenox, and Porter. 
Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, 
That vou do lie so late ? 



94 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

P(yrt, 'Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second cock. 
Macd. Is thy master stirring ? — 
Our knocking has awak'd him ; here he comes. 

Enter Macbeth. 

Len, Good-morrow, noble sir ! 

Macb. Good-morrow, both ! 

Macd. Is the king stirring, worthy thane ? 

Macb. Not yet. 

Macd. He did command me to call timely on him : 
I have almost slipp'd the hour. 

Mach. I'll bring you to him. 

Macd. I know, this is a joyful trouble to you ; 
But yet, 'tis one. 

Mach. The labor we delight in, physics pain. 
This is the door. 

Macd. I'll make so bold to call, 

For 'tis my limited service. \^Exit Macduff. 

Len. Goes the king 

From hence to-day ? 

Mach. He does : — he did appoint so. 

Len. The night has been unruly : Where we lay, 
Our chimneys were blown down : and, as they say, 
Lamentings heard i' the air ; strange screams of death ; 
And prophesying, with accents terrible. 
Of dire cumbustion, and confus'd events, 
New hatch'd to the woeful time. The obscure bird 
Clamor'd the livelong night : some say, the earth 
Was feverish, and did shake. 

Mach. 'Twas a rough night. 

Len. My young remembrance cannot parallel 
A fellow to it. 

Re-enter Macduff. 

Macd. O horror ! horror ! horror ! Tongue, nor heart, 
Cannot conceive, nor name thee ! 

Mach. Len. WTiat's the matter ? 

Macd. Confusion now hath made his master-piece ! 
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope 
The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence 
The life o' the building. 

Mach. What is't you say ? the life ? 

Len. Mean you his majesty ? 

Macd. Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight 
With a new Gorgon : — Do not bid me speak ; 
See, and then speak yourselves. — Awake ! awake ! — 

[Exeunt Macbeth arid Lenox 
Ring the alarum-bell : — Murder ! and treason ! 
Banquo, and Donalbain ! Malcolm ! awake ! 



MACBETH. 95 

Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, 
And look on death itself I — up, up, and see 

The great doom's image Malcolm ! Banquo ! 

As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprights, 

To countenance this horror ! [Bell rings, 

Banquo ! Banquo ! * 

Enter BA^'QUO. 
Our royal master's murder'd ! 

Re-enter Macbeth and Lenox. 

Macb. Had I but died an hour before this chance, 

1 had lived a blessed time ; for, from this instant, 
There's nothing serious in mortahty : 

All is but toys : renown, and grace, is dead ; 
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees 
Is left this vault to brag of. 

Enter Malcolm and Donalbai5. 

Don. What is amiss ? 

Macb. You are, and do not know 

The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood 
Is stopp'd ; the very source of it is stopp'd. 

Macd. Your royal father *s murder'd. 

Mai. O, by whom ? 

Len. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done't : 
Their hands and faces were all badg'd \^ith blood, 
So were their daggers, which, unwip'd, we found 
Upon their pillows : 

They star'd, and were distracted ; no man's life 
Was to be trusted with them. 

Macb. O, yet I do repent me of my fury. 
That I did kill them. 

Macd. Wherefore did you so ? 

Macb. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temperate, and furious, 
Loyal and neutral, in a moment ? No man : 
The expedition of my \iolent love 
Out- ran the pauser reason. — Here lay Duncan, 
His silver skin lac'd with his golden blood ; 
And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature 
For ruin's wasteful entrance : there, the murderers, 
Steep'd in the colors of their trade, their daggers 
Unmannerly breech'd witli gore : Who could refrain, 
That had a heart to love, and in that heart 
Courage to make his love known ? 

Ban. Fears and scruples shake us : 
In the great hand of Heaven I stand ; and, thence, 
Against the undi\iilg'd pretence I fight 
Of treasonous malice. 



96 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Macb. And so do I. 

All. So all. 

Macb. Let's briefly put on manly readiness, 
And meet i' the hall together. 

All. Well contented. [Exeunt all but Mal. and Don. 

Mai. What will you do ? Let's not consort with them : 
To show an unfelt sorrow is an office 
Which the false man does easy : I'll to England. 

Don. To Ireland, I ; our separate fortune 
Shall keep us both the safer : where we are, 
There's daggers in men's smiles : the near in blood, 
The nearer bloody. 

Mal. This murderous shaft that's shot, 

Hath not yet lighted ; and our safest way 
Is, to avoid the aim. Therefore to horse ; 
And let us not be dainty of ieave-taking. 
But shift away : There's warrant in that theft 
Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left. [Exeunt 

The King's two sons, Malcolm and Donalbain, fly to England, and Macbeth is crownea 
king of Scotland ; but fearing the prediction of the witches, that Banquo's issue should 
be king, he employs " two murderers," to assassinate Banquo and his son Fleance. 

The consequences of guilty ambition aie finely portrayed in tbe following scene. 

ACT III. 

SCENE II.— The same. Another Roam. 
Enter Lady Macbeth, and a Servant. 

Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court ? 

Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. 

Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend his leisure 
For a few words. 

Serv. Madam, I will. [Exit. 

Lady M. Nought's had, all's spent, 

Where our desire is got without content : 
'Tis safer to be that which we destroy, 
Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy. 

Enter Macbeth. 

How now, my lord ? why do you keep alone, 
Of sorriest fancies your companions making ? 
Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died 
With them they think on ? Things without remedy 
Should be without regard : what's done, is done. 

Macb. We have scotch'd the snake, not kiU'd it ; 
She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice 
Remains in danger of her former tooth. 



MACBETH. 



97 



But let 

The frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, 

Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep 

In the affliction of these terrible dreams, 

That shake us nightly : better be with the dead, 

Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace, 

Than on the torture of the mind to lie 

In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave ; 

After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well ;* 

Treason has done his worst : nor steel, nor poison, 

Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, 

Can touch him further ! 

Lady M. Come on ; 

Gentle, my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks ; 
Be bright and jovial 'mong your guests to-night. 

Mach. So shall I, love ; and so, I pray, be°you : 
Let your remembrance apply to Banquo": 
Present him eminence, both\vith eye and tono-ue : 
Unsafe the while, that we ° 

Must lave our honors in these flattering streams ; 
And make our faces vizards to our hearts, 
Disguising what they are. 

Lady M. You must leave this. 

Ma^h. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife ! 
Thou know'st, that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. 
Lady M But in them nature's copy's not eteme. 
Mach. There's comfort vet ; thev are assailable ; 
Then be thou jocund : Ere the bat hath flown 
His cloister'd flight ; ere, to black Hecate's summons, 
^J W shard-borne beetle, with his drowsy hums, 
.lath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done 
A df!ed of dreadful note. 

Lady M. What's to be done ? 

Mach. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, 
lill thou applaud the deed. Come, seelino- nio-ht 
Skarf up the tender eve of pitiful day . ° ° ' 
And, with thy bloody and invisible hand. 
, Cancel, and tear to pieces, that gTeat bond 
Which keeps me pale I— Light thickens ; and the crow 
■ Makes wing to the rooky wood: 
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse ; 
|VVhiles night's black agents to their prev do rouse. 
1 iiou marvell'st at my words : but hold thee still ; 
Ihmgs bad begun, make strong themselves by ill: 
^o pray thee, go with me. 



Banquo and Fleance on their return to the Palace, are attacked by " the mnrderers •'» 
Banquo is slain, but Fleance escapes. 



{^Exeunt. 



d8 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

SCENE IV. — A Room of State in the Palace, A Banquet 
prepared. 

Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Rosse, Lenox, Lords, and 
Attendants. 

Mach, You know your own degrees, sit down : at first 
And last, the hearty welcome. 

Lords. Thanks to your majesty. 

Mach. Ourself will mingle with society, 
And play the humble host. 
Our hostess keeps her state ; but, in best time. 
We will require her welcome. 

Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to ail my friends ; 
For my heart speaks they are welcome. 

Enter first Murderer, to the door. 

Mach. See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks : 

Both sides are even : Here I'll sit i' the midst : 
Be large in mirth ; anon, we'll drink a measure 
The table round. — There's blood upon thy face. 

Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then. 

Mach. 'Tis better thee without, than he v/ithin. 
Is he dispatch'd ? 

Mur. My lord, his throat is cut ; that I did for him. 

Mach. Thou art the best o' the cut-throats : Yet he's good, 
Tljat did the like for Fleance : if thou didst it, 
Thou art the nonpareil. 

Mur. Most royal sir, 

Fleance is 'scap'd. 

Mach. Then comes my fit again : I had else been perfect ; 
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock ; 
As broad, and general, as the casing air : 
But now, I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in 
To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe ? 

Mur. Ay, my good lord : safe in a ditch he bides, 
With twenty trenched gashes on his head ; 
The least a death to nature. 

Mach, Thanks for that : 

There the grown serpent lies ; the worm, that's fled. 

Hath nature that in time will venom breed, 

No teeth for the present. — -Get thee gone : to-morrow 

We'll hear, ourselves again. \^ExU MurdeB 

Lady M. My royal lord, 

You do not give the cheer ; the feast is sold, 
That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making, 
'Tis given with welcome : To feed, were best at home ; 
From thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony, 
Meeting were bare without it. 

Macb, Sweet remembrancer ! — 



MACBETH. 99 

Now, good digestion wait on appetite, 
And health on both ! 

Len. May it please your highness sit ? 

[ The Ghost of Banquo rises, and sils in Macbeth's place. 

Mad. Here had we now our country's honor roof 'd. 
Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present ; 
Who may I rather challenge for unkindness 
Than pity for mischance ! 

Rosse. His absence, sir, 

Lays blame upon his promise. Please it your highness 
To grace us with your royal company ? 

Macb. The table's fullf 

Len. Here's a place reserv'd, sir. 

Mach. Where ? 

Len. Here, my lord. What is't that moves your highness ? 

Mach. Which of you have done this ? 

Lords. What, my good lord ? 

Macb, Thou canst not say, I did it : never shake 
Thy gory locks at me. 

Rosse. Gentlemen, rise ; his highness is not well. 

Ladij M. Sit, worthy friends : — my lord is often thus, 
And hath been from his youth : — 'pray you, keep seat ; 
The fit is momentary ; upon a thought 
He will again be well ; If much you note him, 
You shall offend him, and extend his passion ; 
Feed, and regard him not. — Are you a man ? 

Macb. iVy, and a bold one, that dare look on that 
Which might appal the devil. 

Lady M. O proper stuff! 

This is the very painting of your fear : 
This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said. 
Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws, and starts, 
(Impostors to true fear) would w^ell become 
A woman's story, at a winter's fire, 
Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself ! 
Why do you make such faces ? When all 's done. 
You look but on a stool. 

Macb. Pr'ythee, see there I behold ! look ! lo ! how say you ? 
Why, what care I ? If thou canst nod, speak too. — 
If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send 
Those that we bury, back, our monuments 

Shall be the maws of kites. [Ghost disappears. 

Lady M. What ! quite unmann'd in folly ? 

Macb. If I stand here, I saw him. 
Lady M. Fye, for shame ! 

Macb. Blood hath been shed ere novv^, i' the olden time, 
Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal : 
Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd 
Too terrible ibr the ear : the t'jnes have been, 



IQO SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

That, when the brains were out, the man would die, 
And there an end : but now, they rise again, 
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, 
And push us from our stools : This is more strange 
Than such a murder is. 

Lady M. My worthy lord. 

Your noble friends do lack you. 

Mich. I do forget : — 

Do not muse at me, my most w^orthy friends ; 
I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing 
To those that know me. Come, love and health to all ; 
Then I'll sit down : — Give me some wine, fill full : — 
I drink to the general joy of the whole table, [Ghost rises. 

And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss ; 
Would he were here ! to all, and him, we thirst, 
And all to all. 

Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. 

Mach. Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! Let the earth hide thee ! 
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ; 
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 
Which thou dost glare wdth ! 

Lady M. Think of this, good peers, 

But as a thing of custom : 'tis no other ; 
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. 

Mich. What man dare, I dare : 
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, 
The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger. 
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves 
Shall never tremble : Or, be alive again. 
And dare me to the desert with thy sword ; 
If trembling I inhibit thee, protest me 

The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow ! [Ghost disappears. 
Unreal mockery, hence ! — Why, so ; — being gone, 
I am a man again. — Pray you, sit still. 

Lady M. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the good meeting, 
With most admir'd disorder. 

Mach. Can such things be, 

And ov^ercome us like a summer's cloud, 
Without our special wonder ? You make me strange 
Even to the disposition that I owe. 
When now I think you can behold such sights, 
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, 
When mme are blanch'd with fear. 

Rosse. What sights, my lord ? 

Lady M. I pray you, speak not ; he grows worse and worse ; 
Question enrages him : at once, good-night : — 
Stand not upon the order of your going. 
But go at once. 



MACBETH. 101 

Len. Good-night, and better health 

Attend his majesty ! 

Lady M, A kind good-night to all ! 

[Exeunt Lords and Attendants. 

Macb. It will have blood ; they say, blood will have blood : 
Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak ; 
Augurs, and understood relations, have 
By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth 
The secret'st mian of blood. — What is the night ? 

Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which is which. 

Macb. How^ say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person. 
At our great bidding ? 

Lady M. Did you send to him, sir ? 

Mad). I hear it by the way : but I will send : 
There 's not a one of them, but in his house 
I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, 
(Betimes I will.) unto the weird sisters : 
More shall they speak ; for now I am bent to know, 
By the worst means, the worst : for mine own good, 
Ail causes shall give way ; I am in blood 
Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more. 
Returning were as tedious as go o'er : 
Strange things I have in head, that will to hand ; 
Which must be acted, ere they may be scann'd. 

Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. 

Macb. Come, w^e'll to sleep : My strange and self-abuse 
Is the initiate fear that wants hard use : — 
We are yet but young in deed. [Exeunt 

SCENE Y.— Tlie Heath. Thunder. 
Enter Hecate, meeting the three Witches. 

\st Witch. Why, how now, Hecate ? you look angerly. 

Hec. Have I not reason, beldams as you are, 
Saucy, and over-bold ? How did you dare 
To trade and traffic with Macbeth, 
In riddles, and affairs of death ; 
And I, the mistress of your charms. 
The close contriver of all harms, 
Was never call'd to bear my part, 
Or show the glory of our art ? 
And, which is worse, all you have done. 
Hath been but for a w^ayward son. 
Spiteful and wrathful ; w^ho, as others do. 
Loves for his own ends, not for you. 
But make amends now : Get you gone. 
And at the p"t of Acheron 
Meet me i' the morning; thither he 
Will come to know his destiny. 



102 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Your vessels, and /t>iir spells, provide, 
Your charms, and every thing bes'de : 
I am for the air ; this night Til spend 
Unto a dismal-fatal end. 
Great business must be v/rought ere noon : 
Upon tiie corner of the moon 
There hangs a vaporous drop profound ; 
I'll catcli it ere it come to ground : 
And that, distill'd by magic slights, 
Shall raise such artificial sprights, 
\s, by the strength of their illusion. 
Shall draw him on to his confusion ; 
He shall spurn faith, scorn death, and bear 
His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear : 
And you all know, security 
Is mortal's chiefest enemy. 

Song. [ Within.] Come away, come away, &c. 
Hark, I am call'd ; my little spirit, see, 
Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [^Exit, 

1st Witch. Come, let's make haste : she'll soon be back again. 

[Exeunt. 

Macbeth seeks the ** weird sisters" or witches, at " the Pit of Acheron," and adjures 
them to declare his fate. The witches, by their incantalions, raise up spirits who warn 
Macbeth, to " Beware Macduff." He is then assured that 

" none of woman born shall harm Macbeth," 

and that 

"Macbeth shall never vanquished be, until 
Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill 
Shall come against him." 

He is also shown a line of Eight Kings, who are the issue of Banquo. 

Macbeth, acting upon the caution of the witches, surprises the Castle of Macduff, and 
puts to the sword Lady Macduff, and all her children ; Macduff being absent in England 
on a visit to younof Malcolm. 

SCENE III. — England. A Room in the King's Palace, 
Enter Malcolm and Macduff. 

Mai. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there 
Weep our sad bosoms empty. 

Macd. Let us rather 

Hold fast the mortal sword ; and, like good men. 
Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom : Each new morn, 
New widows howl ; new orphans cry ; new sorrows 
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds 
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out 
Like syllable of dolor. 

Mai. What I believe, I'll wail ; 

What know, believe ; find, what I can redress. 
As I shall find tliu ti .^ to friend, I will. 



MACBETH. 103 

What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance. 

This tyrant, whose sole name bhsters our tongues, 

Was once thought honest ; you have lov'd him well : 

He hath not toiich'd you yet. lam young, but something 

You may deserve of him through me ; and wisdom 

To offer up a weak, poor innocent lamb. 

To appease an angry aod. 

Macd. I am not treacherous. 

Mai. But Macbeth is. 

A good and \artuous nature may recoil, 
In an imperial charge. But 'crave your pardon ; 
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose : 
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell : 
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace. 
Yet grace must stDl look so. 

Macd. I have lost my hopes. 

Mai. Perchance, even there, where I did find my doubts. 
Why in that rawness left you wife, and child, 
(Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,) 
Without leave-taking ?— I pray you 
Let not my jealousies be your dishonors. 
Bat mine own safeties : — You may be rightly just, 
Whatever I shall think. 

Macd, Bleed, bleed, poor country ! 

Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure. 
For goodness dares not check thee ! wear thou thy wrongs, 
Thy title is affeer'd.* — Fare thee well, lord : 
I would not be the villain that thou think'st 
For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp, 
And the rich East to boot. 

Mai. Be not offended : 

I speak not as in absolute fear of you. 
I think, our country sinks beneath the yoke ; 
It weeps, it bleeds : and each new day a gash 
Is added to her wounds : I think, withal, 
There would be hands uplifted in my right ; 
And here, from gracious England, have I offer 
Of goodly thousands : But, for all this, 
Wlien I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, 
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country 
8hall have more vices than it had before ; 
More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever. 
By him that shall succeed. 
"Macd. What should he be ? 

Mai. It is myself I mean : in whom I know 
All the particulars of vice so grafted. 
That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth 
Will seem as pure as snow ; and the poor state 

* Confirmed. 



104 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd 

With my confineless harms. Nay, had I power, I should 

iJproar the universal peace, confound 

All unity on earth. 

Macd. O Scotland ! Scotland ! 

Mai. If such a one be fit to govern, speak : ^ 
1 am as I have spoken. 

Macd. Fit to govern ! 

No, not to live. — O nation miserable, 
With an untitled tyrant, bloody-scepter'd. 
When shait thou see thy wholesome days again ? 
jince that the truest issue of thy throne 
3y his own interdiction stands accurs'd. 
And does blaspheme his breed ? — Thy royal father 
Was a most sainted king : the queen that bore thee, 
Oft'ner upon her knees than on her feet, 
Died eveiy day she liv'd. Fare thee well ! 
These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself, 
Have banish'd me from Scotland. — O, my breast, 
Thy hope ends here ! 

Mai. Macduff, this noble passion, 

Child of integrity, hath from my soul 
Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts 
To thy good truth and honor. Heaven above 
Deal between thee and me ! for even now 
I put myself to thy direction, and 
Unspeak mine own detraction ; here abjure 
The taints and blames I laid upon myself. 
For strangers to my nature : W^hat I am truly. 
Is thine, and my poor country's, to command : 
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach. 
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men. 
All ready at a point, was setting forth : 
Now we'll together ; And the chance, of goodness, 
Be like our warranted quarrel ! Why are you silent ? 

Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at once, 
'Tis hard to reconcile. 

Enter Rosse. 

Macd. See, who comes here ? 

Mai. My countryman ; but yet I know him not. 

Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. 

Mai. I know hini now : Good Heaven, betimes remove 
The means that make us strangers ! 

Rosse. Sir, Amen. 

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did ? 

Rosse. Alas, poor country ; 

Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot 
Be calPd our mother, but our grave : where nothing, 
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile ; 



MACBETH. 105 

Where sighs, and gi'oans, and shrieks that rent the air, 

Are made, not mark'd ; where violent sorrow seems 

A modern ecstasy ; the dead man's knell 

Is there scarce abk'd, for who ; and good men's lives 

Expire before the flowers in their caps, 

Ehing, or ere they sicken. 

Macd. O, relation, 

Too nice, and yet too true I 

Mai. What is the newest grief? 

Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss tlie speaker ; 
Each minute teems a new one. 

Macd. How does my wife ? 

Rosse. Why, well. 

Macd. And all my children ? 

Rosse. Well too. 

Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace ? 

Rosse. No ; they were well at peace, when I did leave them. 

Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech ; How goes it ? 

Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings, 
Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumor 
Of many worthy fellows that were out ; 
\\'hich was to my belief witness'd the rather. 
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot : 
Now is the time of help ; your eye in Scotland 
Would create soldiers, make our women fight 
To doff their dire distresses. 

Mai. Be it their comfort. 

We are coming thither : gracious England hath 
Lent us good Si ward, and ten thousand men : 
An older, and a better soldier, none 
That Christendom gives out. 

Rosse. 'Would I could answer 

This comfort with the like ! But I have words, 
That would be howl'd out in the desert air, 
Where hearmg should not latch them. 

Macd. What concern they ? 

The general cause ? or is it a fee-grief, 
Due to some single breast ? 

Rosse. No mind, that's honest, 

But in it shares some woe ; though the main part 
Pertains to you alone. 

Macd. If it be mine, 

Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. 

Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever. 
Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound, 
That ever yet they heard. 

Macd. Humph ! I guess at it. 

Rosse. Your castle is surpris'd ; your wife, and babes, 
Savagely slaughter'd : to relate the manner, 



106 SHAKSPEAKIAN READER. 

Were, on the quarry of these murder 'd deer. 
To add the death of you. 

Mai. Merciful heaven ! — 

What, man ! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows ; 
Give sorrow words : the grief, that does not speak, 
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break. 

Macd. My children too ? 

Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all 

That could be found. 

Macd. And I must be from thence ! 

My wife kill'd too ? 

Rosse. I have said. 

Alal. Be comforted : 

Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge, 
To cure this deadly grief 

Macd. He has no children. — All my pretty ones ? 
Did you say, all ? All ? 
What, all m.y pretty chickens, and their dam, 
At one fell swoop ? 

Mai. Dispute it hke a man. 

Macd. I shall do so ; 

But I must feel it as a man : 
I cannot but remember such things were, 
That were most precious to me. — Did heaven look on, 
And would not take their part ? Sinful Macduff, 
They were all struck "fbr thee ! naught that I am, 
Not for their own demerits, but for mine, 
Fell slauohter on their souls : Heaven rest them now I 

Mai. Be this the whetstone of your sword : let grief 
Convert to anger ; blunt not the heart, enrage it. 

Alacd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes. 
And braggart with my tongue ! — But gentle heaven, 
Cut short all intermission ; front to front. 
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself ; 
Within my sword's length set him ; if he 'scape, 
Heaven forgive him too ! 

Mai. This tune goes manly. 

Come, go we to the king ; our power is ready; 
Our lack is nothing but our leave : Macbeth 
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above 
Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may ; 
The night is long, that never finds the day. [Exeu7it, 



ACT V. 

The actio^ changes to Dansinane, where the Enghsh powers, led on by Young m 
Malcohn, Siward, and Macduff, are joined by the loyal Scotch. The united forces i| 
march towards Dunsinane Castle to attack Macbeth. 



MACBETH. 107 

SCENE lU. — Dunsinane. A Romn in the Castle, 

Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. 

Macb. Bring me no more reports ; let them fly all ; 
Till Bimam wood remove to Dunsinane, 
I cannot taint with fear. Then fly, false thanes, 
And mingle with the English epicures : 
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear, 
Shall never sagg with doubt, nor shake with fear. 

Enter a Servant. 

Thou cream-fac'd loon. 

Where got'st thou that goose look ? 

Serv. There is ten tliousand-- 

Macb. Geese, \illain ? 

8erv. Soldiers, sir. 

Macb. ^Vhat soldiers, patch ? 
Death of thy soul ! those linen cheeks of thine 
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face ? 

Serv. The English force, so please you. 

Macb. Take thy face hence. — Seyton I — I am sick at heart. 
When I behold — Seyton, I say ! — This push 
Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now. 
I have liv'd long enough : my way of Hfe 
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf : 
And that which should accompany old age, 
As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
I must not look to have ; but, m their stead. 
Curses not loud, but deep, mouth-honor, breath. 
Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not. 

Se}ix)n ! 

Enter Seyton. 

Sey. What is your gracious pleasure ? 

Macb. ^Vhat news more ? 

Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported. 

Macb. I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hack'd. 
Give me my armor. 

Sey. 'Tis not needed yet. 

Mach. ril put it on. 
Send out more horses, skiiT the countr}^ rounds 
Hang those that talk of fear. — Give me mine armor,— 
How does your patient, doctor ? 

Doct. Not so sick, my lord, 

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, 
That keep her from her rest. 

Macb. Cure her of that : 

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd ; 
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorro\7 ; 



108 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; 
And, with some sweet oblivious antidote, 
Cleanse the stiifF'd bosom of that perilous stuff, 
Which weighs upon the heart ? 

Doct, Therein the patient 

jiust minister to himself. 

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it.-— 
Come, put mine armor on ; give me my staff: — 
Seyton, send out. — Doctor, the thanes fly from me : — 
Come, sir, dispatch : — If thou could'st, doctor, cast 
The water of my land, find her disease. 
And purge it to a sound and pristine health, 
I would applaud thee to the very echo, 
That should applaud again. — 
\v hat rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug, 
Would scour these EngHsh hence ? Hearest thou of them ? 

Doct. Ay, my good lord ; your royal preparation 
Makes us hear something. 

Macb. Bring it after me. — 

1 vv'ill not be afraid of death and bane. 
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. \^Exii. 

SCENE IV. 

Country near Dunsinane : A Wood in view. 

Enter, with drums and colors, Malcolm, old Si ward, and Ms Son. 
Macduff, Menteth, Cathness, Angus, Len^ox, Rosse, aiid 
Soldiers, marching. 

Mai. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand. 
That chambers will be safe. 

M37ii. We doubt it nothing. 

Siiv. What wood is this before us ? 

Ment. The Vv^ood of Birnam. 

Mai. Let every soldier hew him down a bough, 
And bear't before him ; thereby shall we shadow 
The numbers of our host, and make discovery 
Err in report of us. 

Sold. It shall be done. 

Siw. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant 
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure 
Our setting down before't. 

Mai. 'Tis his main hope : 

For where there is advantage to be given. 
Both more and less have given him the revolt ; 
And none serve with him but constrained things, 
Whose hearts are absent too. 

Macd. Let our just censures 

Attend the true event, and put we on 
i!^dustrious soldiership. 



MACBETH. 109 

Siw. The time approaches, 

That will with due decison make us know 
What we shall say we have, and what we owe. 
Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate ; 
But certain issue strokes must arbitrate : 
Towards which, advance the war. [Exeunt, marcMng. 

SCENE v.— Dunsinane. Within the Castle. 

Enter, with drums and colors, Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers. 

Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward walls ; 
The cry is still, They come : Our castle's strength 
Will laugh a sieo^e to scorn : here let them lie. 
Till famine, and the ague, eat them up ; 
Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours, 
We might have met them dareful. beard to beard, 
And beat them backward home. What is that noise ? 

[A cry within, of women* 

Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord. 

Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears : 
The time has been, my senses would have cool'd 
To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair 
Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir 
As life were in't : I have supp'd full with horrors ; 
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, 
Cannot once start me. — Wherefore was that cry ? 

Sey. The queen, m^y lord, is dead. 

Mich. She should have died hereafter ; 
There would have been a time for such a word. — 
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow 
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 
To the last syllable of recorded time ; 
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle ! 
Life's but a walking shadow ; a poor player, 
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage. 
And then is heard no more : it is a tale 
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
Signifying nothing, 

Enter a Messenger. 
Thou com'st to use thy tongue ; thy story quickly. 

Mess. Gracious my lord, 
I shall report that which I say I saw. 
But know not how to do it. 

Mich, Well, say, sir. 

Msss. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, 
I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, 
rhe wood began to move. 



110 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Macb. iiar, and slave ! [Striking him. 

Mdss. Let nie endure your wrath, if 't be not so ; 
Within this three mile may you see it coming ; 
I say, a moving grove. 

Mach, If thou speak'st false, 

Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, 
Till famine cling thee : if thy speech be sooth, 
I care not if thou dost for me as much.— 
I pull in resolution ; and begin 
To doubt the equivocation of the fiend, 
That lies like truth : Fear not, till Birnam wood 
Do come to Dunsinane ; — and now a wood 
Comes toward Dunsinane. — Arm, arm, and out ! — 
If this, which he avouches, does appear. 
There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here. 
I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun, 

And wish the estate o' the world were now undone.- — 
Ring the alarum bell : — Blow wind ! come, wrack ! 
At least we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeunt. 

Macbeth leads his followers to the Battle, which terminates in the defeat of th© 
Usurper, who is slain by Macduff, and Malcolm is declared King of Scotland. 



I 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



Shakspeare took the plot of this deli£;htful comedy from a novel called, " Rosalynde, 
or Enphues' Golden Legacy," written by Lodge, who borrowed his materials from an 
old English poem, of the age of Chaucer, 

Our Poet has improved upon his model, and has constructed one of the most exqui- 
sitely finished Pastoral Poems extant in our language. 

The Plot and leading incidents of the Comedy, will be clearly illustrated in the 
selected scenes we have given. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Duke, living in exile, 

Frederick, brother to the Duke, and usurper of his dominions. 

Amiens, Jaques, Lords attending on the Duke in his banishment. 

Le Beau, a courtier attending upon Frederick. 

Charles, his wrestler. 

Oliver, Jaques, Orlando, sons of Sir Rowland de Bois. 

Adam, Dennis, servants to Oliver. 

Touchstone, a clown. 

Sir Oliver Martext, a vicar. 

CoRiN, SiLVius, shepherds. 

William, a country fellow , in love with Audrey. 

A Person representing Hymen. 

Rosalind, daughter to the banished Duke. 
Celia, daughter to Frederick. 
Phebe, a shepherdess. 
Audrey, a country girl. 

Lords belonging to the two Dukes; Pages, Foresters, and other 
Attendants. 

The SCENE lies, first, near Oliver's House ; afterwards partly in the 
Usurper's Court and partly in the Forest 0/ Arden. 



112 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

ACT I. 

SCENE I. — An Orchard, near Oliver's House. 

Enter Orlando, and Adam. 

Orlando. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed 
rno : By will, but a poor thousand crowns : and, as thou say'st, 
charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well : and there be- 
gins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report 
speaks goldenly of his profit : for my part, he keeps me rustically at 
home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home unkept : 
For call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs 
not from the stalling of an ox ? His horses are bred better ; for, 
besides that tliey are fair with their feeding, they are taught their 
manage, and to that end riders dearly hired : but L his brother, gain 
nothing under him but growth ; for the which his animals are as 
much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully 
gives me, the something that nature gave me, his countenance seems 
to take from me ; he lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place 
of a brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my 
education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me ; and the spirit of my 
father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this ser- 
vitude : I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise 
remedy how to avoid it. 

Enter Oliver. 

Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. 

Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up. 

Oli. Now, sir ! what make you here ? 

Orl. Nothing ; I am not taught to make any thing. 

Oli. What mar you then, sir ? 

Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which Heaven made, 
a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. 

Oli. Marry, sir, be better employ'd, and be naught awhile. 

Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them ? What 
prodigal portion have I spent, that 1 should come to such penury ? 

Oli. Know you where you are, sir ? 

Orl. O, sir, very well : here in your orchard. 

Oli. Know you before whom, sir ? 

Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me. I know, you are 
my eldest brother ; and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should I 
know me : The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that 
you are the first-born; but the same tradition takes not awav my 
blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us : I have as much of my ; 
father in me, as you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is- 
nearer to his reverence. 

OIL What, boy ! 

Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. 



t 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 113 

OIL Wilt thou la}^ hands on me, villain ? 

Orl. I am no villain ; I am the youngest son of sir Rowland de 
Bois : he was my father ; and he is thrice a villain, that says, such a 
father begot villains : Wert thou not my brother, I would not take 
this hand from thy throat, till this other had pulled out thy tongue 
for saying so : thou hast railed on thyself. 

Adam. Sweet masters, be patient ; for your father's ^'emembrance, 
be at accord. 

Oli. Let me go, I say. 

Orl. I will not. till I please : you shall hear me. My father 
charged you in his will to give me good education : you have trained 
me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like 
qualities : the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no 
longer endure it : therefore allow me such exercises as may become 
a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testa- 
ment; with that I will go buy my fortunes. 

Oli. And what wilt thou do ? beg, when that is spent ? Well, sir, 
get you in : I will not long be troubled with you : you shall have 
some part of your will : I pray you, leave me. 

Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good. 

Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. 

Adam. Is old dog my reward ? Most true, I have lost my teeth in 
your service. — Heaven be with my old master ! he would not have 
spoke such a word. [Exeunt Orlando and Adam. 

Oli. Is it even so ? begin you to grow upon me ? I will physic 
your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. 

Oliver, desirousof ridding himself of Orlando, seeks the aid of" Charles, the wrestler," 
who is engajred to exhibit in a wrestling match, that is to take place before the usu'-ping 
Duke and his court. Charles, instigated by Oliver, agrees to challenge Orlando to try 
" a fall with him," when by superior skill he hopes to overcome and kill him. In this he is 
frustrated by the agility and strength of Orlando, who obtains the victory. 

Rosalind the daughter of the exiled Duke, is at her Uncle's court, and accompanied 
by Celia her cousin, they witness the wrestling match. Rosalind is struck by the grace 
and courage exhibited by Orlando— and learning that he is the son of one of her Fathei's 
oldest friends, her interest in the young man is increased ; she rewards Orlando, with a 
gold chain, and a xnntnal feelino- of regard is excited in both their hearts. 

Celia watches the growing love of Rosalind, and sportively accuses her with falling in 
love " on such a sudden:" their conversation is interrupted by Duke Frederick, who has 
become jealous of Rosalind, and banishes her from his court. 

Enter Celia, and Rosalind. 

Cel. Why, cousin ; why, Rosalind ; — Cupid have mercy ; — Not a 
word ? 

Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. 

Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast aw^ay upon curs, 
throw some of them at me ; come, lame me with reasons. 

Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up ; when the one should 
be lamed with reasons, and the other mad without any. 

Cel. But is all this for your father ? 



114 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Ros. No, some of it for my child's father : O, how full of briers is 
this working-day world ! 

Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday 
foolery ; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very coats will 
catch them. 

Ros. I could shake them off my coat; these burs are in my heart. 

Cel. Hem them away. 

Ros. I would try ; if I could cry hem, and have him. 

Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. 

Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself. 

Cel. Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so 
strong a liking with old sir Rowland's youngest son ? 

Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly. 

Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love his son dearly ? 
By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for .my father hated his father 
dearly ; yet I hate not Orlando. 

Ros. No 'faith, hate him not, for my sake. 

Cel. Why should I not ? doth he not deserve well ? 

Ros. Let me love him for that ; and do you love him, because I 
do : Look, here comes the duke. 

Cel. With his eyes full of anger. 

Enter Duke Frederick, icitJi Lords. 

Duke F. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste, 
And get you from our court. 

Ros. Me, uncle ? 

Duke F. You, cousin. 

Within these ten days if thou be'st found 
So near our public court as twenty miles. 
Thou diest for it. 

Ros. I do beseech your grace. 

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me : 
If with myself I hold intelligence. 
Or have acquaintance with mine own desires ; 
If that I do not dream, or be not frantic, 
(As I do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle, 
Never so much as in a thought unborn. 
Did I offend your highness. 

Duke F. Thus do all traitors : 

If their purgation did consist in words. 
They are as innocent as grace itself : 
Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not. 

Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor : 
Tell me, whereon the likelihood depends. 

Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough. 

Ros. So was I, when your highness took his dukedom ; 
So was I, when your highness banish'd him : 
Treason is not inherited, my lord : 
Or, if we did derive it from our friends, 



k 



AS YOF LIKE IT. 115 

What's that to me ? my father was no traitor : 
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much, 
To think my poverty is treacherous. 

Cd. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. 

Duke F. Ay, Ceha ; we stay'd her for your sake. 
Else had she with her father rang'd along. 

Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay, 
It was your pleasure, and your own remorse ; 
I was too young that time to value her, 
But now I know her ; if she be a traitor, 
^^'hy, so am I : we still have slept together ; 
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together ; 
And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, 
Still vs'e went coupled, and inseparable. 

Duke F. She is too subtle for thee ; and her smoothness, 
Her ver\' silence, and her patience. 
Speak to the people, and they pity her. 
Thou art a fool : she robs thee of thy name ; 
And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more \irtuous, 
When she is gone : then open not thy hps ; 
Firm and irrevocable is my doom 
Which I have pass'd upon her ; she is banish'd. 

Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege ; 
I cannot live out of her company. 

Duke F. You are a fool : — You, niece, provide yourself; 
If you out-stay the time, upon mine honor. 
And in the greatness of my word, you die. 

[Exeunt Dtxke Frederick, and Lords. 

Cel. O my poor Rosalind : whither wilt thou go ? 
Wilt thou change fathers ? I will give thee mine. 
I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am. 

Ros. I have more cause. 

Cel. Thou hast not, cousin, 

Pr'ythee, be cheerful : know'st thou not, the duke 
Hath banish'd me his daughter ? 

Ros. That he hath not. 

Cel. No ? hath not ? Rosalind lacks then the love 
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one : 
Shall we be sunder'd ? shall we part, sweet girl ? 
No ; let my father seek another heir. 
Therefore devise with me, how we may fly, 
W^hither to go, and what to bear with us : 
And do not seek to take your charge upon you, 
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out : 
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, 
Say W'hat thou canst, 1*11 go along with thee. 

Ros. Why, whither shall we go ? 

Cel. To see.: mf uncle. 

Ros. Alas, what dansfer will it be to us. 



116 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Maids as we are, to travel forth so far ? 
Beauty provukech thieves sooner than gold. 

Cel. I'll pat myself in poor and mean attire, 
And with a kind of umber smirch my face ; 
The like do you ; so shall we pass along. 
And never stir assailants. 

Ros. Were it not better, 

Because that I am more than common tall. 
That I did suit me all points like a man ? 
A boar-spear in my hand ; and (in my heart 
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will,) 
We'll have a swashing and a martial outside ; 
As many other mannish cowards have, 
That do outface it with their semblances. 

Cel. What shall I call thee when thou art a man ? 

Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page. 
And therefore, look you, call me, Ganymede. 
But what will you be call'd ? 

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state : 
No longer Celia, but Aliena. 

Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal 
The clownish fool out of your father's court ? 
Would he not be a comfort to our travel ? 

Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me ; 
Leave me alone to woo him : Let's away, 
And get our jewels and our wealth together ; 
Devise the fittest time, and safest way 
To hide us from pursuit that will be made 
After my flight : Now go we in content, 
To liberty, and not to banishment. [Exeunt. 

The action now begins in the Forest of Arden, where the exiles Ouke and liis 
followers have found refuge. 

ACT II. 

SCENE I.— The Forest of Arden. 

Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and other Lords, in th^ dress of 
Foresters. 
Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile. 
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet 
Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these w^oods 
More free from peril than the envious court ? 
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, 
The seasons' difference ; as the icy fang. 
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; 
Which, when it bftes and blows upon my body, 
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — 



AS YOU LIKE IT. ] 1 7 

This is no jflattery : these are counsellors 

That fe-ehngly persuade me what I am. 

Sweet are the uses of adversity ; 

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; 

x\ud this our hfe, exempt from public haunt, 

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 

Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. 

Ami. I would not change it : Happy is your grace, 
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune 
Into so quiet and so sweet a style. 

Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? 
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, — 
Being native burghers of this desert city, — 
Should, in their own confines, with forked heads 
Have their round haunches gor'd. 

1st Lord. Indeed, my lord. 

The melancholy Jacques grieves at that ; 
And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp 
Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. 
To-day, my lord of Amiens, and myself, 
Did steal behind him, as he lay along. 
Under an oak whose antique root peeps out 
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood : 
To the which place a poor sequester'd stag. 
That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt, 
Did come to languish ; and, indeed, my lord. 
The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans, 
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat 
Almost to bursting ; and the big round tears 
Cours'd one another down his innocent nose 
In piteous chase : and thus the hairy fool. 
Much marked of the melancholy Jacques, 
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, 
Augmenting it with tears. 

Duke S. But what said Jacques ? 

Did he not moralize this spectacle ? 

1st Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. 
First, for his weeping in the needless stream ; 

Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak^st a testament 

As worldlings do. giving thy sum of more 

To that which had too much : Then being alone, 

Left and abandoned of his velvet friends ; 

'Tzs right, quoth he ; this misery doth part 

The flux of company : Anon, a careless herd. 

Full of the pasture, jumps along by him. 

And never stays to greet him ; Ay, quoth Jacques, 

Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens ; 

^Tisjust the fashion : Wherefore do you look 



AS SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Upon ihat y.yor and broJcen bankrupt there ? 
TliLis most invectively he pierceth through 
The body of the country, city, court, 
Yea, and of this our life : swearing that we 
Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse, 
To fright the animals, and to kill them up. 
In their assign'd and native dwelling place. 

Duke S. And did you leave him in this contemplation ? 

2nd Lord. We did, my lord, weeping, and commenting 
Upon the sobbing deer. 

Duke S. Show me the place ; 

1 love to cope him in these sullen tits. 
For then he's full of matter. 

2nd Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [Exeunt. 

Oliver, foiled in his scheme to destroy Orlando at the wrestling-match, plots othei 
means "to cut his brother off." Adam learns his intentions, and the faithful old man 
reveals them to Orlando. 

SCENE m.^Before Oliver's House. 
Enter Orlando and Adam, meeiing, 

Orl. Who's there ? 

Adam. What ! my young master ? — O, my gentle master, 
O, my sweet master, O you memory 
Of old Sir Rowland ! why, what make you here ? 
Why are you virtuous ? Why do people love you ? 
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant ? 
Why would you be so fond to overcome 
The bony priser of the humorous duke ? 
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. 
Know you not, mait^ter, to some kind of men 
Their graces serve them but as enemies ? 
No more do yours ; your virtues, gentle master, 
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 
O, what a world is this, when what is comely 
Envenoms him that bears it ! 

Orl Why, what's the matter ? 

Adam. O unhappy youth, 

Come not within these doors ; within this roof 
The enemy of all your graces lives : 
Your brother — (no, no brother ; yet the son — 
Yet not the son ; I will not call him son — 
Of him I was about to call his father.) — » 
Hath heard your praises ; and this night he means 
To burn the lodging where j^ou used to lie, 
And you within it : if he fail of that. 
He will have other means to cut you oJfF; 
I overheard him, and his practices. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 119 

This is no place, this house is but a butchery ; 
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. 

Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go ? 

Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. 

Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food ? 
Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce 
A thievish living on the common road ? 
This I must do, or know not what to do : 
Yet this I will not do, do how I can ; 
I rather will subject me to the maUce 
Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother. 

Adam. But do not so ; I have five hundred crowns, 
The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father, 
Which I did store to be my foster-nurse. 
When service should in my old limbs he lame, 
And unregarded age in corners thrown ; 
Take that : and He that doth the ravens feed. 
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow. 
Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold ; 
All this I give you : Let me be your sen^ant ; 
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty : 
For in my youth I never did apply 
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood ; 
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo 
The means of weakness and debility ; 
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, 
Frosty, but kindly : let me go with you ; 
I'll do the service of a younger man 
In all your business and necessities. 

Orl. O good old man ; how well in thee appears 
The constant service of the antique world. 
When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! 
Thou art not for the fashion of these times. 
Where none will sweat, but for promotion ; 
And having that, do choke their service up 
Even with the having : it is not so with thee, 
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree, 
That cannot so much as a blossom yield, 
In Heu of all thy pains and husbandry : 
But come thy ways, we'll go along together ; 
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, 
We'll light upon some settled low content. 

Adam. Master, go on ; and T will follow thee, 
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. — 
From seventeen years till now almost fourscore 
Here lived I, but now live here no more. 
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek ; 
But at fourscore, it is too late a week : 
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better, 
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. \ Exeunt. 



120 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 



SCENE IV. — The Forest r/Arden. 

Enter Rosaliis'D in hoy^s clothes, Celia rh^est like a Shepherdess, and 
Touchstone. 

Ros. O Jupiter ! how weary are my spirits ! 

Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary. 

Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace m.y man's apparel, and 
to cry like a woman : but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as 
doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat : there- 
fore, courage, good Aliena. 

Cel. I pray you, bear with me ; I can go no further. 

Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you, than bear you : 
yet I should bear no cross, if I did bear you ; for, I think, you have 
no money in your purse. 

Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. 

Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden: the more fool I; when I was 
at home, I was in a better place ; but travellers must be content. 

Ros. Aj, be so, good Touchstone : — Look you, who comes here ; 
a young man, and an old, in solemn talk. 

Enter Cor in, and Silvitjs. 

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still. 

Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her ! 

Cor. I partly guess ; for I have lov'd ere now. 

Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess ; 
Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover 
As ever sigh'd.upon a midnight pillow : 
But if thy love w^ere ever like to mine, 
(As sure I think did never man love so,) 
How many actions most ridiculous 
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy ? 

Cor. Into a thousand that 1 have forgotten. 

Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily : 
If thou remember'st not the slightest folly 
That ever love did make thee run into, 
Thou hast not lov'd : I ^ 

O, if thou hast not sat as I do now, I 

Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, 11 

Thou hast not lov'd : I in 

Or, if thou hast not broke from company, I ( 

Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Mki 

Thou hast not lov'd : O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe ! [Exit Silvius. I ( 

Ros. Alas, poor shepherd ! searching of thy wound, lii, 

I have by hard adventure found mine own. ^^ 

Touch. And I mine : We, that are true lovers, run into strange 
capers ; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal 
in folly. 

Ros. Thou speak'st wiser, than thou art 'ware of. 



i 



AS YOQ LIKE IT. 121 

Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit, till I break 
my shins against it. 

Ros. Jove ! Jove ! ^his shepherd's passion 

Is much upon Ihy fashion. 
Touch. And mine ; but it gi'ows something stale with me, 
Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man^ 
If he for gold will give us any food ; 
I faint almost to death. 

Touch. Holla : you, clowm ! 

Ros. Peace, fool ; he's not thy kmsman. 

Cor. Who calls? 
Tovxh. Your betters, sir. 
Cor. Else are they very wretched. 
Ros. Peace, I say : 

Good even to you, friend. 

Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. 
Ros. I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love, or gold. 
Can in this desert place buy entertainment, 
Bring us w^here we may rest ourselves, and feed : 
Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd, 
And faints for succor. 

Coi\ Fair sir, I pity her. 

And wish for her sake, more than for miine own, 
My fortunes were more able to reheve her : 
Rut I am shepherd to another man, 
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze ; 
My master is of churhsh disposition. 
And little recks to find the Vv^ay to heaven 
By doing deeds of hospitality : 
Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed, 
Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, 
By reason of his absence, there is nothing 
That you will feed on ; but what is, come see, 
I And in my voice most welcome shall you be. 
I Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture ? 

Cor. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile, 
I That little cares for buying any thing. 
1 Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, 
1 Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, 
j And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. 
\ Cel. And we will mend thy wages : I like this place, 
i And willingly could w^aste my time in it. 
I Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold : 
i Go with me ; if you like, upon report, 
j The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, 
I will your very faithful feeder be. 
And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [Exeunt, 



122 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

SCENE Y.—A7ioilier part of the Foresi. A Table set. md. 
EiUer Duke Senior, Amiens, Lord^ and others, 
Duke S. I think he be transformed into a 5east ; 
For I can no where find him hke a man. 

\st Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence ; 
Here was he merry, hearing of a song. 

Duke S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, 
We shall have shortly discord in the spheres : — 
jo, seek him ; tell him I would speak with him. 

Enter Jaques. 

Is^ Lord. He saves my labor by his own approach. 

Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur ! what a Ufe is this, 
That your poor friends must woo your company ? 
What ! you look merrily. 

Jaq. A fool, a fool ! 1 met a fool i' the forest, 

A motley fool ; — a miserable world ! — 

As I do live by food, I met a fool ; 

Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, 

And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms. 

In good set terms, — and yet a motley fool. 

G-ood-mor row, fool, quoth I : No, sir, quoth he, 

Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune : 

And then he drew a dial from his poke : 

And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 

Says, very wisely. It is ten o^clock : 

This may ice see, quoth he, how the world wags : 

^Tis hut an hour ago, since it was nine ; 

And after an hour more, hunll he eleven ; 

And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, 

And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot. 

And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear 

The motley fool thus moral on the time, 

My lungs began to crow like chanticleer. 

That fools should be so deep contemplative ; 

And I did laugh, sans intermission. 

An hour by his dial. — O noble fool ! 

A worthy fool ! Motley's the only wear. 

Duke S. What fool is this ? 

Jaq. O worthy fool ! — One that hath been a courtier 5 
And say, if ladies be but young, and fair, 
They have the gift to know it : and in his brain, — 
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit 
After a voyage, — he hath strange places cramm'd 
With observation, the w^hich he vents 
In mangled forms : — O, that I were a fool ! 
I am ambitious for a motley coat. I jf-- 



Duke S. Thou shalt have one. 



(M 



AS YOr LIKE IT. 123 

Jaq. It is my only suit ; 

Provided, that you weed your better judgments 
Of all opinion that grows rank in them. 
That I am wise. I must have Uberty 
Withal, as large a charter as tlie wind. 
To blow on whom I please ; tor so fools have : 
ArA they that are most galled with my folly, 
They most must laugh : And why, sir, must they so ? 
The ichy is plain as way to parish church : 
He, tliat a fool doth very wisely hit. 
Doth very foohshly, although he smart, 
Not to seem, senseless of the bob : if not. 
The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd 
Even by the squandering glances of the fool. 
Invest me in my motley ; give me leave 
To speak my mind, and I will through and through 
Cleanse the foul body of the infected world. 
If they will patiently receive m.y medicine. 

DvJie S. Fye on thee I I can tell what thou would'st do. 

Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do. but good ? 

Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin : 
For thou thyself hast been a hbertine. 

Jaq. Why, vrho cries out on pride, 
That can therein tax any private party ? 
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, 
Till that the very ven,^ means do ebb ? 
What woman in the city do I name. 
When that I say, The city-woman bears 
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders ? 
Who can come in, and say, that I mean her, 
When such a one as she, such is her neighbor ? 
Or what is he of basest function, 
That says, his bravery is not on my cost, 
(Thinking that I mean him.) but thereui suits 
His folly to the mettle of my speech ! 
There then : How, vrhat then ? Let me see wherein 
My tongue hath wrongVl him : if it do him right. 
Then he hath wrong'd himself: if he be free, 
Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies, 
Unclaim'd of any m.an. — But who comes here ? 

Enter Orlando, icilh his sicord drawn. 

Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. 

Jaq, Why. I liave eat none yet. 

Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. 

Duke S. xA.rt thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress ; 
Or else a rude despiser of good manners, 
That in ci\'ility thou seem'st so empty ? 

Orl. You touched my vein at tirst ; the thorny point 



124 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show 
Of smooth civihty : yet am I inland bred. 
And know some n art are : Bat forbear, I say : 
He dies that touches any of this fruit, 
Till I and my affiiirs are answered. 

Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, 
I must die. 

Dake S. What would you have ? Your gentleness shall forc3 
More than your force move us to gentleness. 

Orl. I almost die for food, and let m.e have it. 

Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. 

Orl. Speak you so gently ? Pardon me, J pray you. 
I thought, that all things had been savage here ; 
And therefore put I on the countenance 
Of stern commandment ; But whate'er you are, 
That in this desert inaccessible, 
Under the shade of melancholy boughs. 
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; 
If ever you have look'd on better days ; 
If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church ; 
If ever sat at any good man's feast ; 
If ever from your eyelids wip'd a tear, 
And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied ; 
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be : 
In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword. 

Duke S. True is it that we have seen better days ; 
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church ; 
And sat at good men's feasts : and wip'd our eyes 
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd : 
And therefore sit you down in gentleness, 
And take upon command what help we have. 
That to your wanting may be ministred. 

0?'L Then, but forbear your food a little while, 
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn. 
And give it food. There is an old poor man, 
Who after me hath many a weary step 
Limp'd in pure love ; till he be first suffic'd,— 
Oppress'd Vv^ith two weak evils, age, and hunger, — 
I will not toucii a bit. 

Duks S. Go find him out. 

And we will nothing waste till you return. 

Orl. I thank ye ; and be bless'd for your good comfort ! [ExiL 

Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy ; 
This wide and universal theatre 
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene 
Wherein we play in. 

Jaq. All the world's a stage, 

And all the men and women m^erely players ; 
They have tlieir exits, and their entrances ; 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 125 

And one man in his time plays many parts. 

His acts being seven ages. At firsi, the infant, 

Mewling and puking in tlie nurse's arms. 

And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, 

And shining morning face, creeping lilve snail 

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, 

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 

Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, 

Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 

Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, 

Seeking the bubble reputation 

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the justice. 

In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd, 

With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut. 

Full of wise saws and modern instances. 

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts 

Into the lean and slipper 'd pantaloon. 

With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; 

His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide 

For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice. 

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, 

That ends this strange eventful history, 

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ; 

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. 

Re-enter Orlando, with Adam. 

Duke S. Welcome. Set dowm your venerable burden, 
And let him feed. 

Orl. I thank you most for him. 

Adam. So had you need ; 
I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 

Duke S. Welcome, fall to ; I will not trouble you 
As yet, to question you about your fortunes : — 
Give us some music ; and, good cousin, sing. 

Amiens sings, 

SONG. 

I. Blow, hlmv, thou winter wind, 
Thou art not so unkind 

As inan^s ingratitude ; 
Thy tooth is not so keen, 
Because thou art not seen, 
Although thy breath he rude. 
Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! unto the green holly : 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: 
Tnen, heigh, ho, the holly ! 
This life is most jolly. 



126 SHAKSPEARIAN I EADEE. 

II. Freeze, freeze, iliou bitter sky, 
Thou dost not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot : 
Thoiigli thou the waters ivarp, 
Thy sting is not so sharp 
AsJ'riend remember d not. 
Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho I &c. 

Dul-e S. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son, — 
As you have whisperM faithfully, you were ; 
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness 
Most truly limn'd, and living in your face, — 
Be truly welcome hither : I am the duke. 
That lov'd your father : The residue of your fortune, 
Go to my cave and tell me. — Good old man ; 
Thou art right welcome as thy master is : 
Support him by the arm. — Give me your hand, 
And let me all your ^'ortunes understand. lExeunt. 

Duke Frederick on discovering the flight of his daughter and Rosalind, suspects that 
Orlando has aided them. He sends for Oliver, and commands him to seek the fugitives. 
Orlando remains in the forest under the protection of the banished Duke. 

ACT III. 

The Forest, 
Enter Orlando, with a paper. 

Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love : 

And thou, thrice crowned queen of night, survey 
With thy chaste eye, from thy pale spiiere above. 

Thy huntress' name, that my full life doth sway. 
O Rosalind ! these trees shall be my books, 

And in their barks my thoughts I'll character ; 
That every eye, which in this forest looks. 

Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. 
Run, run, Orlando ; carve, on every tree. 
The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. \^Exit. 

Enter Corin, and Touchstone. 

Cor. And how" like you this shepherd's life, master Touchstone ? 

Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life : but 
in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is naught. In respect that it 
is solitary. I like it very well ; but in respect that it Is private, it is a 
very vile life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well ; 
but in respect it is not in tlie court, it is tedious. xAsit is a spare 
life, look you, it fits my humor well ; but as there is no more plenty 
in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophv in 
tjiee, shepherd ? 

Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one sickens, the v/orse 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 127 

at ease he is ; and tliat he that wants money, means, and content, is 
without three good friends : — That the property of rain is to wet, and 
fire to bum : That good pasture makes fat sheep ; and that a great 
cause of the night, is lack of the sun : That he, that hath learned no 
wit by nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a 
very dull kindrt?d. 

Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, 
shepherd ? 

Cor. No, sir. I am a true laborer ; I earn that I eat, get that I 
wear ; owe no man hate, en\y no m.an's happiness ; glad of other 
men's good, content with my harm : and the greatest of my pride is, 
to see my ewes graze, and my lambs feed. Here comes yom:ig 
master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. 

Enter Rosalixd, reading a paper. 
Ros. From the east to icestern Ind, 
No jewel is like Rosalind. 
Her icorth, being mounted on the wind, 
Through all the world bears Rosalind. 
All the pictures, fairest lin'd, 
Are but black to Rosalind. 
Let no face be kept in mind. 
But the fair of Rosalind. 

Touch. 1*11 rhyme you so, eight years together ; dinners, and sup- 
pers, and sleeping hours excepted : it is the right butter woman's 
rank to market. 

Ros. Out, fool ! 

Touch. For a taste : 

If a hart do lack a hind, 

Let him seek out Rosalind. 

If the cat will after kind, 

So, be sure, will Rosalind. 

Winter garments must be lin'd, 

So must slender Rosalind. 

They that reap, must sheaf and bind ; 

Then to cart with Rosalind. 

Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, 

Such a nut is Rosalind. 

This is the very false gallop of verses ; Why do you infect yourself 
with them ? 

Ros. Peace, you dull fool : I found them on a tree. 

Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. 

Ros. I'll graff it with you, and then I -hall graiF it with a medlar : 
then it will be the earliest fruit in the country : for you will be 
rotten e'er you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar. 

Touch. You have said: but whether wisely or no, let the forest 
judge. 



128 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Enter Celt a, reading a paper. 

Ros. Peace 
[-lere comes my sister, reading ; stand aside. 
• Cel. Why should this desert silent be 7 
For it is unpeopled ? No ; 
Tongues Fll hang on every tree^ 
That shall civil sayings show : 
Some, lioio hrief the life of man 
Runs his erring pilgrimage ; 
That the stretching of a span 
Buckles in his sum of age. 
Som,e, of violated votes 

''Twixt the souls of friend and friend: 
But upon the fairest houghs, 
Or at every sentence'' end, 
Will I Rosalinda icrite : 

Teaching all that read to knoio 
The quintessence of every sprite 

Heaven would in little show. 
Therefore heaven nature charged 
That one body should befiWd 
With all graces ivide enlarged : 

Nature presently disiilVd 
Helenas cheek, but not her heart ; 

Cleopatra'' s majesty ; 
Atalanta's better part ; 

Sad Lucretia's modesty. 
Thus Rosalind of many parts 

By heavenly synod icas devis''d, 
JJf many faces, eyes, and hearts 

To have the touches dearest prized. 
Heaven would that she these gifts should have, 
And I to live and die her slave. 
Ros. O most gentle Jupiter ! — what tedious homily of love have 
you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cry'd, Have patience, 
good people ! 

Cel. Hov/ now ! back friends ; — Shepherd, go off a little : — Go 
with him, sirrah. 

Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honorable retreat : though 
not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. 

[Exeunt Corin, and Touchstone. 
Cel. Didst thou hear these verses ? 

Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too ; for some of them 
had in them m.ore feet than the verses would bear. 

Cel. That's no matter ; the feet might bear the verses. 
Ros. Ay, bat the feet were lame, and could not boar tliemselves 
without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse. 

Cel. But didst thou hear, without wondering how thy name dioold 
be hang'd and carved upon these trees ? 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 129 

Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder, before you 
came ; for look liere what I found on a palm-tree : I was never so 
be-rhymed smce Pythagoras' time, that T was an Irish rat, which I 
can hardly remember. 

Cel. Trow you, who hath done this ? 

Ros. Is it a man ? 

Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck : Change 
you color ? 

Ros, [ pr'ythee, who ? 

Cel. O! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains 
may be removed with earthquakes, and so encounter. 

Ros. Nay, but who is it ? 

Cel Is it possible ? 

Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell 
me who it is ? 

Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful, and yet again 
wonderful, and after that out of all whooping ! 

Ros. Good my complexion I dost thou think, though I am capari- 
son'd like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition ? One 
inch of delay more is a South-sea-olF discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, 
who is it ? quickly, and speak apace : I would thou couldst stammer, 
that thou might'st pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine 
comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bottle ; either too much at once, or 
none at all. I pr'}1:hee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may 
drink thy tidings. What manner of man ? Is his head worth a hat ? 

Cel. It is young Orlando ; that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels, 
and your heart, bofh in an instant. 

Ros. Nay, no mocking ; speak sad brow, and true maid. 

Cel. V faith, coz, 'tis he. 

Ros. Orlando ? 

Cel Orlando. 

Ros. Alas the day ! what shall I do with my doublet and hose ? — 
What did he when thou saw'st him ? What said he ? How look'd 
he ? Wherein went he ? What makes he here ? Did he ask for 
me ? Where remains he ? How parted he with thee ? and when 
shalt thou see him again ? Answer me in one word. 

Cel You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth first : 'tis a word 
too great for any mouth of this age's size : To say, ay, and no, to 
these particulars, is more than to answer in a catechism. 

Ros. But doth he know that I am in this forest, and in man's 
apparel ? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled ? 

Cel. It is as easy to count atomies, as to resolve the propositions 
of a lover : — but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with a 
good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn. 

Ros. It may well be cail'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth such 
fruit. 

Cel Give me atidience, good madam. 

Ros. Proceed. 

Cel There lay he, stretch'd along, like a wounded knight. 



I: 



130 SHAKSPEARIiiN LEADER. 

Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the 
ground. 

Cel Cry, holloa ! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee : it curvets very un- 
reasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter. 

Ros. O ominous ! he comes to kill my heart. 

C'3l. I would sing my song without a burden : thou bring'st me 
out of tune. 

Ros. Do you not know I am a woman ? when I think, I must 
speak. "Sweet, say on. 

Enter Orlando, and Jaques. 

Cel. You bring me out : — Soft ! comes he not here ? 

Ros. 'Tis he ; slink by, and note him. 

[Celia and Rosalind retire. 

Jaq. I thank you for your company ; but, good faith, I had as 
lief have been myself alone. 

Orl. And so had I ; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for 
your society. 

Jaq. Heaven be with you ; let's meet as little as we can. 

Orl. T do desire, we may be better strangers. 

Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs in 
their barks. 

Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill- 
favoredly. 

Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name ? 

Orl. Yes, just. 

Jaq. I do not like her name. 

Oi'l. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she was 
christen'd. 

Jaq. What stature is she of ? 

Orl. Just as high as my heart . 

Jaq. You are full of pretty answers : Have you not been ac- 
quainted with goldsmith's wives, and conn'd them out of rings ? 

Orl. Not so ; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence 
you have studied your questions. 

Jaq. You have a nimble wit ; I think it is made of Atalanta's 
heels. Will you sit down with me ? and we two will rail against 
our mistress the world, and all our miser;. 

Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but myself; against 
whom I know most faults. 

Jaq. The most fault you have, is to be in love. 

Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best \drtue. I am 
weary of you. 

Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool, when T found you. 

Orl. He is drown 'd in the brook ; look but in, and you shall see 
him. 

Jaq. There shall I see mine own figure. 

Orl. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher. 

Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you ; farewell, good signior love. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. ' 131 

Orl. I am glad of your departure ; adieu, good monsieur melan- 
choly. \_Exit Jaques. — Cel. and Ros. come forward. 

Ros'. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, and under that 
habit play the knave with him. — Do you hear, forester ? 

Orl, Very well ; what would you ? 

Ros. I pray you, what is't a clock ? 

Orl. You should ask me, what time o'day ; there's no clock in the 
forest. 

Ros. Then there's no true lover in the forest ; else sighing every 
m-inute, and groaning every hour, would detect the lazy foot of time, 
as well as a clock. 

Orl. And why not the swift foot of time ? had not that been as 
proper ? 

Ros. By no means, sir : Time travels in divers paces with divers 
persons : I'll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, 
who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal. 

Orl. I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal ? 

Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between the con- 
tract of her marriage, and the day it is solemnized. 

Orl. Who ambles time v/ithal ? 

Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man that hatli not 
the gout : for the one sleeps easily, because he cannot study ; and 
the other lives merrily, because he feels no pain : the one lacking 
the burden of lean and wasteful learning ; the other knowing no 
burden of heavy tedious penury : These time ambles withal. 

Orl. Who doth he gallop withal ? 

Ros. With a thief to the gallows : for though he go as softly as 
foot can fall, he thinks him.self too soon there. 

Orl. Who stays it still withal ? 

Ros. With lawyers in the vacation : for they sleep between term 
and term, and then they perceive not how time moves. 

Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth ? 

Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister ; here in the skirts of the 
forest. 

Orl. Are you a native of this place ? 

Ros. As the rabbit, that you see dwell where she is kindled. 

Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in 
ip removed a dwelling. 

Ros. I have been told so of many : but, indeed, an old religious 
uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland- 
man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I 
have heard him read many lectures against it ; and I thank fortune, 
I am not a w^oman, to be touch'd with so many giddy offences as 
he hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal. 

Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to 
the charge of women ? 

Ros. There were none principal ; they w^ere all like one another, 
as half-pence are : every one fault seeming monstrous, till his fellow 
fault came to match it. 



132 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

OrL I pr'ythee, recount some of them. 

Ros. No ; I will not cast away my physic, but on those that are 
sick. There is a man haunts the fores', that abuses our young 
plants with carving Rosalind on their barks ; hangs odes upon haw- 
ehoms, and elegies on brambles ; all, forsooth, deifying the name of 
Rosalind : if 1 could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some 
good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. 

Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked ; 1 pray you, tell me your 
remedy. 

Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you : he taught 
me how^ to know a man in love ; in which cage of rushes, I am sure 
you are not prisoner. 

Oii. What w^ere his marks ? 

Ros. A lean cheek ; which you have not : a blue eye, and sunk- 
en ; which you have not : an unquestionable spirit ; which you 
have not : a beard neglected ; which you have not : — Then your hose 
should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, 
your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless 
tlesolation. But you are no such mian ; you are rather point-device 
in ygur accoutrements ; as loving yourself, than seeming the lover 
of any other. 

Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. 

Ros. Me believe it ? you may as soon make her that you love be 
lieve it ; which, I w^arrant, she is apter to do, than to confess she 
does ; that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie 
to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the 
verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired ? 

Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am 
he, that unfortunate he. 

Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak ? 

Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. 

Ros. Love is merely a madness ; and, I tell you, deserves as w^ell 
a dark house and a whip, as madmen do ; and the reason w^hy they 
are not so punished and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that 
the w^hippers are in love too : Yet I profess curing it by counsel. 

Orl. Did you ever cure any so ? 

Ros. Yes, one ; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his 
love, his mistress ; and I set him every day to woo me : At whi#h 
time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, 
changeable, longing, and liking ; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, in- 
constant, full of tears, full of smiles ; for every passion something, 
and for no passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for the 
most part cattle of this color ; would now like him, now ioatli him ; 
then entertain him, then forswear him ; now weep for him, then spit 
at him ; that I drave my suitor from his mad humor of love, to a liv- 
ing humor of madness ; which was, to forswear the full stream of 
the world, and to live in a nook merely monastic : And thus I cured 
liim ; and this way v/ill I take upon me to wash your liver as clean 
r.3 a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of lo^-;^ 'n't. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 133 

Orl. I would not be cured, youth. 

Ros. J would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and 
come every day to my cote, and woo me. 

Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will ; tell me where it is. 

Ros. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you : and by the way, you 
shall tell me where in the forest you live : Will you go ? 

Orl. With all my heart, good youth. 

Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosahnd : — Come, sister, \x\\\ you 
go ? [Exeunt. 

Rosalind, still in her male attire, wins the love of Phebe, a rustic beauty, living in the 
forest, and by her wit and sprightliness gains the attention of the Duke and his followers. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— The same. 
Enter RosALI^^D, Celia, and Jaques. 

Jaq. I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with 
thee. 

Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow. 

Jaq. I am so ; I do love it better than laughing. 

Ros. Those, that are in extremity of either, are abominable fel- 
lows ; and betray themselves to every modem censure, worse than 
drunkards. 

Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. 

Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. 

Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation ; 
nor the musician's, which is fantastical ; nor the courtier's, which is 
proud ; nor the soldier's, which is ambitious ; nor the lawyer's, which 
is politic ; nor the lady's, which is nice ; nor the lover's, which is all 
these : but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many 
simples, extracted from many objects : and, indeed, the sundry con- 
templation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me, 
is a most humorous sadness. 

Ros. A traveller ! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad : 
I fear you have sold your own lands, to see other men's ; then, to 
have seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor 
hands. 

Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience. 

Enter Orlando. 

Ros. And your experience makes you sad : I had rather have a 
fool to make me merry, than experience to make me sad ; and to 
travel for it too. 

Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind ! 

Jaq. Nay then. Heaven be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. 

Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller : Look, you lisp, and wear 
strange suits ; disable all the benefits of your own country ; be out 



134 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

of love with yonr nativity ; or I will scarce think you have swam in a 
gondola. — [Exit Jaques.] — Why, how now, Orlando I where have 
you been all this while ? You a lover ? — An you serve me such an- 
other trick, never come in my sight more. 

Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. 

Ros. Break an hour's promise in love ? He that will divide a mi- 
nute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the thousandth 
part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him, that 
Cupid hath clapp'd him o' the shoulder, but I warrant him hean 
whole. 

Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. 

Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight ; I had 
as lief be vvoo'd of a snail. 

OW. Of a snail ? 

Ros. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes slowly, he carries his 
house on his head ; a better jointure, I think, than you can make a 
woman : Besides, he brings his destiny with him. 

Orl What's that. 

Ros. Why, horns. 

Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker ; and my Rosalind is virtuous. 

Ros. And I am your Rosalind. 

Cel. It pleases him to call you so ; but he hath a Rosalind of a 
better leer than you. 

Ros. Come, woo me, woo me ; for now I am in a holiday humor, 
and like enough to consent : — What would you say to me now, an 
I were your very very Rosalind ? 

Orl. I would kiss before I spoke. 

Ros. Nay, you were better speak first ; and when you were grav- 
elled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. 

07^1. How if the kiss be denied ? 

Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter. 

Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress ? 

Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress. 

Orl. What, of my suit ? 

Ros. Out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind ? 

Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking 
of her. 

Ros. Well, in her person, I say — I will not have you. 

Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die. 

Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six 
thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died 
in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains 
dashed out with a Grecian club ; yet he did what he could to die be- 
fore ; and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have 
lived many a fjiir year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not 
been for a hot midsummer night ; for, good youth, he went but forth 
to wash him in the Hellespont, and, being taken with the cramp, was 
drowned ; and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was — Hero 



I 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 135 

of Sestos. But these are all lies ; men have died from lirn'j to tiiii'-. 
and worms have eaten them, but not for love. 

Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind ; for, I pro- 
test, her frown might kill me. 

Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly : But come, now I will be 
your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition ; and ask me what 
you will, I will grant it. 

Orl. Then love me, Rosalind. 

Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, and all. 

Orl. And wilt thou have me ? 

Ros. Ay, and twenty such. 

Orl. What say'st thou ? 

Ros. Are you not good ? 

Orl. I hope so. 

Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing ? — Come, 
sister, you shall be the priest, and marry us. — Give me your hand, 
Orlando : — What do you say, sister ? 

Orl. Pray thee, marry us. 

Cel. I cannot say the words. 

Ros. You must begin, Will you, Orlando, — 

Cel. Go to : Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind ? 

Orl. I will. 

Ros. Ay, but when ? 

Orl. Why now ; as fast as she can marry us. 

Ros. Then you must say, — I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. 

Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. 

Ros. I might ask you for your commission ; but, — I do take thee, 
Orlando, for my husband : There a girl goes before the priest ; and, 
certainly, a woman's thought runs before her actions. 

Orl. So do all thoughts ; they are winged. 

Ros. Now tell me, how long you would have her, after you have 
possessed her. 

Orl. For ever and a day. 

Ros. Say a day, without the ever : No, no, Orlando ; men are 
April when they woo, December when they wed : maids are May 
when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I 
will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary pig'eon over his hen ; 
more clamorous than a parrot against rain ; more new-fangled than 
an ape ; more giddy in my desires than a monkey : I will weep for 
nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are 
disposed to be merry ; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou 
art incHned to sleep. 

Orl. But will my Rosalind do so ? 

Ros. By my hfe, she will do as I do. 

Orl. O, but she is wise. 

Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this : the wiser, the 
waywarden Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at 
the casement ; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole : stop that, 
'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney. 



136 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say, — Wit, 
whither wilt 1 

Ros. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you 
take her without her tongue. 

Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. 

Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. 

Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner ; by two o'clock I will be 
with thee again. 

Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways ; — I knew what you would 
prove ; my friends told me as much, and I thought no less ; — that 
liattering tongue of yours won me : 'tis but one cast away, and so, — 
come, death. — Two o'clock is your hour ? 

Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind. 

Bos. By my troth, and in good earnest, and by all pretty oaths 
that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come 
one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical 
break-promise, and the most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of 
her you call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross band of 
the unfaithful : therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise. 

Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rosa- 
lind : So, adieu. 

Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, 
and let time try : Adieu ! [Exit Orlando. 

Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-prate ; we 
must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head. 

Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know 
how many fathom deep I am in love ! But it cannot be sounded ; my 
affection hath an unknown bottom like the bay of Portugal. 

Cel. Or, rather, bottomless ; that as fast as you pour affection in, 
it runs out. 

Ros. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando : 
I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. 

Cel. And I'll sleep. [Exeunt, 

SCENE m.— The Forest. 

Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Oliver. 

Oli. Good-morrow, fiiir ones : Pray you, if you know 
Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands 
A sheep-cote, fenc'd about with olive trees ? 

Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbor bottom, 
The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream. 
Left on your right hand, brings you to the place : 
But at this hour the house doth keep itself, 
There's none within. 

Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, 
Then I should know you by description ; 
Such garments, and such years : " The boy is fair, 
Of female favor, arid bestows himself 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 137 

Like a ripe sister: but the woinan low, 

And browner than her brother."" x\re not you 

The owner of the house I did inquire for ? 

Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are. 

on. Orlando doth commend him to you both : 
And to that youth he calls his Rosalind, 
He sends this bloody napkin : Are you he ? 

Ros. I am : what must we understand by this ? 

OH. Some of my shame : if you will know of me 
What man I am, and how, and why, and where 
This handkerchief was stain'd. 

Cel. I pray you, tell it. 

on. When last the young Orlando parted from you, 
He left a promise to return again 
Within an hour ; and, pacing through the forest, 
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 
Lo, what befell ! he threw liis eye aside, 
And, mark, what object did present itself! 
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age. 
And high top bald with dry antiquity, 
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, 
Lay sleeping on his back : about his neck 
A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself. 
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd 
The opening of his mouth ; but suddenly 
Seeing Orlando, it unhnk'd itself, 
And with indented glides did slip away 
Into a bush : under which bush's shade 
A lioness 

Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like watch, 
When that the sleeping man should stir ; for 'tis 
The royal disposition of that beast. 
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead : 
This seen, Orlando did approach the m.an. 
And found it was his brother, his elder brother. 

Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother 3 
And he did render him the most unnatural 
That liv'd 'mongst men. 

Oli. And well he might so do, 

For well I know^ he was unnatural. 

Ros. But, to Orlando ; — Did he leave him there, 
Food to the fierce and hungry lioness ? 

Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so^ 
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge. 
And nature, stronger than his just occasion. 
Made him give battle to the lioness. 
Who quickly fell before him ; in which hurtUng 
From miserable slumber I awak'd 

Cel. Are you his brother ? 



138 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Ros. Was it you he rescued ? 

Cel Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him ? 

on. 'Tvvas 1 ; but 'tis not T : I do not shame 
To tell you what I was, since my conversion 
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 

Ros. But, for the bloody napkin ? — 

Oil. By, and by. 

When from the first to last, betwixt us two, 
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd, 

As, how I came into that desert place ; 

In brief, he led me to the gentle duke, 

Who gave me fresh array, and entertainment, 

Committing me unto my brother's love ; 

Who led me instantly unto his cave, 

There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm 

The lioness had torn some flesh away. 

Which all this w^hile had bled ; and now he fainted, 

And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rosalind. 

Brief, I recover'd him ; bound up his wound ; 

And, after some small space, being strong at heart, 

He sent me hither, stranger as I am. 

To tell this stor}^, that you might excuse 

His broken promise, and to give this napkin, 

Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth 

That he in sport doth call his Rosahnd. 

Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede ? sweet Ganymede ? 

[Rosalind faints , 

on. Many w^ill swoon when they do look on blood. 

Cel. There is more in it : — Cousin — Ganymede ! 

Oli. Look, he recovers. 

Ros. I would, I w^ere at home. 

Cel. We'll lead you thither :-— 
I pray you, will you take hiai by the arm ? 

Oli. Be of good cheer, youth : — You a man ?— You lack a man's 
heart. 

Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sir, a body would think this was 
w^ell counterfeited : I pray you, tell your brother how well I counter- 
feited. — Heigh ho ! — 

Cel. This w^as not counterfeit ; there is too great testimony in your 
complexion, that it was a passion of earnest. 

Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. 

Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man. 

Ros. So I do : but i' faith I should have been a woman by right. 

Cel. Come, you look paler and paler ; pray you, draw homew^ards : 
— Good sir, go with us. 

Oli. That will I, for I must bear answer back 
How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. 

Ros. I shall devise something : But, I pray you, commend my 
counterfeiting to him. — Will you go ? [Exeunt. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 139 



ACT V. 

The Forest of Arden. v 

Orlando, and Olivl k . 

Orl. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintance you should like 
her ? that, but seeing, you should love her ? and, loving, woo ? and, 
wooing, she should grant ? and will you persever to enjoy her ? 

Oli. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, 
the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consent- 
ing- ; but say with me, I love Aliena ; say, with her, that she loves 
me ; consent with both, it shall be to your good ; for my father's 
house, and all the revenue that was old sir Rowland's, will I estate 
upon you, and here live and die a shepherd. 

Enter Rosalind. 

Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow : 
thither will I invite the. duke, and all his contented followers: Go 
you, and prepare Aliena : for look you, here comes my Rosalind. 

Ros. Save you, brother. 

Oli. x4Lnd you, fair sister. 

Ros. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear thy 
heart in a scarf. 

Orl. It is m.y arm. 

Ros. I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a 
Hon. 

Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. 

Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon, 
when he show'd me your handkerchief ? 

Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. 

Ros. D, I know where you are : — Nay, 'tis true : there was never 
any thing so sudden, but the fight of two rams, and Caesar's thrasonical 
brag of — I came^ saw, and overcame. For your brother and my sister 
no sooner met, but they looked; no sooner looked, but they loved ; 
no sooner loved, but they sighed ; no sooner sighed, but they asked 
;)ne another the reason ; no sooner knew the reason, but they sought 
the remedy : and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to 
marriage ; they are in the very wrath of love, and they will together ; 
clubs cannot part them. 

Orl. They shall be married to-morrow ; and I will bid the duke to 
the nuptial. But O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness 
through another man's eyes ! By so much the more shall I to-mor- 
row be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think 
my brother happy, in having what he wishes for. 

Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your tur= f r Rosahnd ? 

Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. 

Ros. I will weary you no longer then with idle talking. Know 
of me then, (for now I speak to some purpose.) that I know you are 



140 SHAKSPEARIAN HEADER. 

a gentleman of good conceit : I speak not this, thai you should beai 
a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, I say, I know you are ; 
neither do I labor for a greater esteem than may in some little mea- 
sure draw a behef from you, to do yourself good, and not to grace 
me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things : I 
have, since I was three years old, conversed wiih a magician, most 
profound in this art. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as 
your gesture cries it out, when your brother niarries AHena, shall 
you marry her : — I know into what straits of fortune she is driven ; 
and it is not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, 
to set her before your eyes to-morrow, human as she is. and without 
any danger. 

Orl. Speakest thou in sober meanings ? 

Ros. By my life, I do ; which I tender dearly, though I say I am 
a magician : Therefore, put you in your best array, bid your friends : 
for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall ; and to Rosalind, if 
you will. 

Enter Silvius, and Phebe. 

Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers. 

Phe. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness, 
To show the letter that I writ to you. 

Ros. I care not, if 1 have : it is my study, 
To seem despiteful and ungentle to you : 
You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd ; 
Look upon him, love him ; he w^orships you. 

PJie. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. 

8il. It is to be all made of sighs and tears ; — 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Phe. And I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And I for Rosalind. 

Ros. And I for no woman. 

8il. It is to be all made of faith and service ; — 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Pile. And I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And I for RosaHnd. 

Ros. And I for no w^oman. 

Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy. 
All made of passion, and all made of wishes; 
All adoration, duty, and observance. 
All humbleness, all patience, and impatience. 
All purity, all trial, all observance ; 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Pile. And so am I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. 

Ros. And so am I for no woman. 

Pile. If this be so, why blame you mc to love you ? 

[ To Rosalind. 

Sit. If this be so, why blame you me to love you ? [To Phebe. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 141 

Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to love you ? 

Rqs. Who do you speak to, why hlame you me to love you ? 

Orl. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. 

Ros. Pray yoa, no more of this ; 'tis like the howling of Irish 
wolves against the moon. — I will help you, [to Silvtus,] if I can : — 
I would love you, [to Phebe,] if I could. — To-morrow meet me all 
together. — I will marry you, [to Phebe,] if ever I marry woman, and 
rii be married to-morrow : — I will satisfy you, [to Orlando,] if ever I 
satisfied man, and you shall be married to miorrovv : — I w\\i content 
you, [to SiLVius.] if what pleases you contents you, and you shall 
be married to-morrow. — As you [to Orlando] love Rosahnd, meet ; 
— as you [to Silvius] love Phebe, meet ; And as I love no w^oman, 
ril meet.— So, fare you w^ell ; I have left you commands. 

Sil. ni not fail, if I live. 

Phe. Nor I. 

Orl. Nor I. [Exeunt. 

SCENE TV.— Another Part of the Forest. 
Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando, Oliver, and Celia. 

Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy 
Can do all this that he hath promised ? 

Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not ; 
As those that fear they hope, and know they fear. 

Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phebe. 

Ros. Patience once more, whiles our compact is urg'd : 

You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, [To the Duke. 

You will bestow her on Orlando here ? 

Duke S. That w^ould I, had I kingdoms to give with her. 

Ros. And you say you wdll have her, w^hen I bring her ? 

[ To Orlando. 

Orl. That w^ould I, w^ere I of all kingdoms king. 

Ros. You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing ? [To Phebe. 

Phe. That will I, should I die the hour after. 

Ros. But, if you do refuse to marry me, 
You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd ! 

Phe. So is the bargain. 

Ros. You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will ? 

[To Silvius. 

Sil. Though to have her and death were both one thing. 

Ros. I have promis'd to make all this matter even. 
Keep you your w^ord, O duke, to give your daughter ; — 
You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter : — 

IKeep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me ; 
'Or else, refusing me, to w^ed this shepherd : — 
■ Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her, 
If she refuse me : — and from hence I go. 
To make these doubts all even. [Exeunt Rosalind, and Celia 



142 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd-boy 
Some lively touches of my daughter's favor. 

Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him, 
Methoiight he was a brother to 5^0 nr daughter : 
But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born ; 
And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments 
Of many desperate studies by his uncle, 
Whom he reports to be a great magician. 
Obscured in the circle of this forest. 

Enter Touchstone, and Audrey. 

Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are 
coming to the ark ! Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which 
in all tongues are called fools. 

Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all ! 

Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome ; This is the motley-minded 
gentleman, that I have so often met in the forest : he hath been a 
courtier he swears. 

Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. 
I have trod a measure ; I have flattered a lady ; I have been politic 
with my friend, smooth with mine enemy ; I have undone three 
tailors ; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one. 

Jaq. And how was that ta'en up ? 

Touch. 'Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the 
seventh cause. 

Jaq. How seventh cause ? Good my lord, like this fellow. 

Duke S. I like him veiy well. 

Touch. Sir, I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst 
the rest of the country folks, to swear, and to forswear : according as 
marriage binds, and blood breaks : — A poor virgin, sir, an ill-favored 
thing, sir, but mine own ; a poor humor of mine, sir, to take that 
that no man else will : Rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a 
poor-house ; as your pearl, in your foul oyster. 

Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and sententious. 

Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir. 

Jaq. But for the seventh cause ; how did you find the quarrel on 
the seventh cause ? 

Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed ; — Bear your body more 
seeming, Audrey : — as thus, sir. 1 did dislike the cut of a certain 
courtier's beard ; he sent me w^ord, if I said his beard was not cut 
well, he was in the mind it was : This is called the Rdort courteous. 
If I sent him word again, it was not well cut, he would send me 
word, he cut it to please himself: This is called the Quip modest. 
If again, it v/as not well cut, he disabled my judo'ment : This is 
cali'd the Reply churlish. If again, it was not Vvell cut, he would 
answer, I spake not true : This is called the Reproof valiant. If 
again, it was not well cut, he would say I lie : Thi=? is calPd the 
Countercheck quarrelsome : and so to the Lie circumstantial, and tlie 
Lie direct. 



AS YC?U LIKE IT. 143 

Jaq. And how oft did yoii say, his beard was not well cut ? 

Touch. T durst go no further than the Lie circumstanliaJ, nor he 
durst not give me the Lie direct ; and so we measured swords, and 
parted. 

Jaq. Can you nom^inate in order now the degrees of the lie ? 

Touch. O, sir, we quarrel in print, by the book : as you have 
boolis for good manners : I will name you the degrees. The first, 
the Retort courteous ; the second, the Quip modest ; the third, the 
Repiy churhsh ; the fourth, the Reproof valiant ; the fifth, the Coun- 
tercheck quarrelsome ; the sixth, the Lie with circumstance ; the 
seventh, the Lie direct. All these you may avoid, but the lie direct ; 
and you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven justices 
could not take up a quarrel ; but when the parties were met them- 
selves, one of them thought but of an If, as, If you said so, then I 
said so; And they shook hands, and swore brothers. Your If is 
the only peace-maker ; much virtue in If. 

Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord ? he's as good at any thing, 
and yet a fool. 

Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the 
presentation of that, he shoots his wit. 

Enter Rosalind in womanh clothes ; and Celia. 

Ros. To you I give myself, for I ami yours. [ To Duke iS. 

To you J give myself, for I am yours. [To Orlando. 

Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. 

Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind. 

Phe. If sight and shape be true. 
Why then,— my love adieu ! 

Ros. ril have no father, if you be not he : — [ To Duke S. 

ril have no husband, if you be not he : — [To Orlando. 

Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. [To Phebe. 

Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome art thou to me ; 
Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. 

Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine ; 
Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. [To Silvtus. 

Enter Jaques de Bois. 
Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word or two ; 
I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, 
That bring these tidings to this fair assembly : — 
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day 
Men of great worth resorted to this forest, 
Address'd a mighty power ; which were on foot, 
In his own conduct, purposely to take 
His brother here, and put him to the sword : 
And to the skirts of this wild wood he came ; 
Where, meeting with an old religious man, 
After some question with him, was converted 
Both from his enterprise, and from the world : 



144 



SHAKSPEARIAN READgU. 



His crown bequeathing to his banish'd broths, 
And all their lands restor'd to them again 
That were with him exil'd : This to be true, 
I do engage my life. 

Duke S. Welcome, young man ; 

Thou offbr'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding ; 
To one, his lands withheld : and to the other, 
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. 
First, in this forest, let us do those ends 
That here were well begun, and well begot : 
And after, every of this happy number, 
That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with us, 
Shall share the good of our returned fortune, 
According to the measure of their states. 
Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity, 
And fall into our rustic revelry : — 
Play, music— and you brides and bridegrooms all, 
With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. 

Jaq. Sir, by your patience ; if I heard you rightly, 
The duke hath put on a religious hfe. 
And thrown into neglect the pompous court ? 

Jaq. de B. He hath. 

Jaq. To him will I : out of these convertites 
There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. — 
You to your former honor I bequeath ; 
Your patipRce, and your virtue, well deserves it : — 



[To Duke 5?, 



You [to OnLANDo] to a love, that your true faith doth merit : — 

You [to Oliver] to your land, and love, and great allies : — 

You [to SiLvius] to a long and well deserved bed : — • 

And you [to Touchstone] to wrangling ; for thy lo\'ing voyage 

Is but for two months victual'd : — So to your pleasures ; 

I am for other than for dancing measures. 

Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay. 

Jaq. To see no pastime, I : what you would have 
I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [Exit. 

Duke S. Proceed, proceed : we will begin these rites, 
And we do trust they'll end, in true delights. [A dance. 






OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 



" The Plot is taken from the Hecatommithi, or * Hundred Tales' of Giraldo Cinthio, 
an Italian novelist and dramatist of the secomd class, in the sixteenth century," But al- 
though Shakspeare was indebted for the general plan of his plot to the Italian novelist, 
yet many of the characters are entirely of his own creation, and all of them owe to him 
that individuality which Shakspeare, of all dramatic poets, seems to possess the power of 
transfusing into all the personages he introduces into hi^ Dramas. 

Bishop Lowth says of this Play, that — '* the passion of jealousy, its causes, progress, 
incidents, and effects, have been more truly, more acutely, more copiously, and more im- 
pressively delineated, than has been done by all the disquisitions of all the philosophers 
who have treated on this dark argument.'* 

But it may well be added, that the beauties of this immortal Drama are so conspicuous 
as to need no aid of critical illustration. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Duke of Venice. 

BRABANTio,a Senator. 

Two other Senators. 

Gratiano, brother to Brabantio. 

LoDovico, kinsman to Brabantio. 

Othello, the Moor : 

Cassio, his lieutenant; 

Iago, his ancient. ' 

RoDERiGo, a Venetian Gentleman. 

MoNTANo, Othello's predecessor in the government of C3rprus. 

Clown, servant to Othello. Herald. 

DesDEMONA, daughter to Brabantio, and wife to Othello. 
Emilia, wife to Iago. 

Officers, Gentlemen, Messengers, Musicians, Sailors, Attendants, d^c. 

SCENE, — for the First Act, in Venice ; during the rest of the play, at 
a Sea- Port in Cyprus. 



146 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Othello, a noble Moor, in the service of the States of Venioe, has won the affections 
of Desdemona, the daughter of Brabantio. The lady leaves her father's house, clandes- 
tinely, and is married to the Moor : lago, a seeming friend of Othello, but in reality his 
" direst foe," — acquaints Brabantio of Desdemona's flight, and sets the enraged father in 
pursuit of his daughter and her husband : he then joins the Moor, to avoid suspicion of 
his double dealing. 

ACT I. 

SCENE II.— A Street in Venice. 
Enter Othello, Iago, and Attendants. 

lago. Though in the trade of war I have slain men. 
Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience, 
To do no contriv'd murder ; I lack iniquity 
Sometimes, to do me service : Nine or ten times 
I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs. 

Oth. 'Tis better as it is. 

Iago. Nay, but he prated, 

And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms 
Against your honor. 
That, with the little godliness I have, 
I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray, sir^ 
Are you fast married ? for, be sure of this, — 
That the magnifico is much beloved ; 
And hath, in his effect, a voice potential, 
As double as the duke's ; he will divorce you ; 
Or put upon you what restraint and grievance 
The law (with all his might to enforce it on,) 
Will give him cable. 

Oth. Let him do his spite : 

My services, which I have done the signiory. 
Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know, 
(Which, when I know that boasting is an honor, 
I shall promulgate,) I fetch my life and being 
From men of royal siege ; and my demerits 
May speak, unbonnetted, to as proud a fortune 
As this that I have reach'd : For know, Iago, 
But that I love the gentle Desdemona, 

I would not my unhoused free condition I J 

Put into circumscription and confine I 

For the sea's worth. But, look ! what Hghts come yonder ? J yi 

Enter Cassio, at a distance, and certain Officers, with t(yrche%, | fo 

Iago. These are the raised father, and his friends : 
You were best go in. 

Oth. Not I : I must be found ; 
My parts, my title, and my perfect soul, . ^ 

Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they ? I p 

Iago. By Janus, I think no. I l^^ 



G 



h 



OTHELLO. 147 

Oth, The servants of the duke and my lieutenant. 
The goodness of the night upon you. friends ! 
What is the news ? ^ ^ 

Cas. The duke does greet you. general ; '^ 

And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance, 
Even on the instant. 

Oth, What is the matter, think you ? 

Cas, Something from Cyprus, as I may divine ; 
It is a business of some heat : the gallies 
Have sent a dozen sequent messengers 
This very night, at one another's heels ; 
And many of the consuls, rais'd, and met. 
Are at the duke's already : You have been hotly call'd for ; 
When, being not at your lodging to be found, 
The senate hath sent about three several quests, 
To search you out. 

Oih. 'Tis well I am found by you. 

T will but spend a word here in the house, 
And go with you. \^Exit. 

Cas. " Ancient, what makes he here ? 

lago. He's manied. 

Cas. To whom ? 

Re-enter Othello. 

lago. Marry, to — Come, captain, will you go ? 

Oth. Have with you. 

Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for you. 

EtUer Brabantio, Roderigo, and Officers of night, with torches and 

weapons. 

lago. It is Brabantio : — general, be advis'd ; 
He comes to bad intent. 

Oth. Hola ! stand there ! 

Rod. Signior, it is the Moor. 

Bra. Down with him, thief! 

[They draw on both sides. 

lago. You, Roderigo ! come, sir, I am for you. 

Oih. Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.— 
Good signior, you shall more command with years, 
Than with your weapons. 

Bra. O tlou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd my daughter ? 
Thou hast enchanted her : 
For I'll refer me to all things of sense, 
[f she in chains of magic were not bound. 
Whether a maid — so tender, fair, and happy ; 
So opposite to marriage, that she shunn'd 
The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, 
Would ever have, to incur a general mock, 
Run from her guardage to the soot\" bosom 
Of such a thinp as thou : 



148 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Thou hast practis'd on her with foul charms. 
I therefore apprehend and do attach thee. 
For an abuser of the world, a practiser 
Of arts inhibited and out of warrant : — 
Lay hold upon him : if he do resist. 
Subdue him at his peril. 

Oth. Hold your hands, 

Both you of my inclining, and the rest : 
Were it my cue to fight, I would have known it 
Without a prompter. — Where will you that I go 
To answer this your charge ? 

Bra. To prison : till fit tim 

Of law, and course of direct session, 
Call thee to answer. 

Oth, What if I do obey ? 

How may the duke be therewith satisfied ; 
Whose messengers are here about my side, 
Upon some present business of the state, 
To bring me to him. 

Off. 'Tis true, most worthy signior 

The duke's in council ; and your noble self, 
I am sure, is sent for. 

Bra. How, the duke in council ! 

In this time of the night ! — Bring him away : 
Mine's not an idle cause : the duke himself, 
Or any of my brothers of the state 
Cannot but feel this wrong, as 'twere their own : 
For if such actions may have passage free. 
Bond-slaves, and pagans, shall our statesmen be. [Exeunt 

SCENE in.-'The Same. A Council Chamber. 

The Duke, and Senators, sitting at a table ; Officers attending. 

Duke. There is no composition in these news. 
That gives them credit. _ 

Is^ Sen. Indeed, they are disproportion'd ; i ^ 

My letters say, a hundred and seven gallies. I '^ 

Duke. And mine a hundred and forty. 

2nd Sen. And mine, two hundred : 

But though they jump not on a just account, 
(As in these cases, where the aim reports, 
'Tis oft with difference,) yet do they all confirm I ^3t 

A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. 

Duke. Nay, it is possible enough to judgment. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious. 
Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes, | Ifyr^ 

Have there injointed them with an after fleet. 

1st Sen. Ay, so T thought : — How many, as you guess ? •.IB^fisii] 



OTHELLO. 149 

Mess. Of thirty sail : and now do they re-stem 
Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance 
Their purposes towards Cyprus. — Siguier Montano, 
Your trusty and most valiant servitor, 
With his free duty recommends you thus, 
And prays you to believe him. 

Duke, "fis certain then for C5rprus. — 

1st Sen. Here comes Brabantio, and the valiant Moor. 

Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo, and Officers. 

Dvke. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you 
Against the general enemy Ottoman. 

I did not see you ; welcome, gentle signior, [To Brabantio. 

We lack'd your counsel and your help to-night. 

Bra. So did I yours : Good your grace, pardon me ; 
Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, 
Hath rais'd me from my bed ; nor doth the general care 
Take hold on me ; for my particular grief 
Is of so flood-gate and o'erbeaiing nature, 
That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, 
And it is still itself. 

Duke. Why, what's the matter ? 

Bra. My daughter ! O, my daughter ! 

Sen. Dead ? 

Bra. Aye, to me : 

She is abus'd, stol'n from me, and corrupted 
By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks : 
For nature so preposterously to err. 
Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense. 
Sans witchcraft could not 

Duke. Whoe'er he be, that, in this foul proceeding 
Hath thus beguil'd your daughter of herself. 
And you of her, the bloody book of law 
You shall yourself read in the bitter letter, 
After your own sense ; yea, though our proper son 
Stood in your action. 

Bra. Humbly I thank your grace. 

Here is the man, this Moor ; whom now, it seems. 
Your special mandate, for the state affairs, 
Hath hither brought. 

Duke (^ Sen. We are very sorry for it. 

Duke. What, in your own part, can you say to this ? 

[ To Othello. 

Bra. Nothing, but this is so. 

0th. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, 
My very noble and appro v'd good masters, — 
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter. 
It is most true ; true, I have married her ; 
The very head and front of my offending 



SI 



150 SHAKSFEARIAN READER. 

Hatn this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, 

And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace ; 

For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, 

Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us'd 

Their dearest action in the tented field ; 

And httle of this great world can I speak, 

More than pertains to feats of broil and battle ; 

And therefore little shall I grace my cause, 

In speaking for myself : Yet, by your gracious patience, 

I will a round unvamish'd tale deliver 

Of my whole course of love : what drugs, what charms 

What conjuration, and what mighty magic, 

(For such proceeding I am charg'd withal,) 

I won his daughter with. 

Bra, A maiden never bold ; 

Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion 
Blush'd at herself; And she, — in spite of nature. 
Of years, of country, credit, every thing, — 
To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on ? 
It is a judgment maim'd, and most imperfect, 
That will confess — ^perfection so could err 
Against all rules of nature. 
I therefore vouch again. 

That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood. 
Or with some dram conjur'd to this effect, 
He wrought upon her. 

Duke. To vouch this, is no proof; Othello, speak ;-— 
Did you by indirect and forc'd courses 
Subdue and poison this young maid's affections ; 
Or came it by request, and such fair question 
As soul to soul affordeth? 

0th. I do beseech you. 

Send for the lady to the Sagittary, 
And let her speak of me before her father : 
If you do find me foul in her report. 
The trust, the office, I do hold of you, j 

Not only take away, but let your sentence ^ 

Even fall upon my life. \ 

Duke, Fetch Desdemona hither. ^ 

0th, Ancient, conduct them : you best know the place. — ji 

[Exeunt Iago, and Attendants. ^^ 

And, till she come, as truly as to heaven 
I do confess the vices of my blood, 
So justly to your grave ears I'll present 
How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, G(^ 

And she in mine. Tn 

Duke. Say it, Othello. 

0th. Her father lov'd me ; oft invited me ; , i 

Still questioned me the story of my life, j /? 



OTHELLO. 151 

From year to year ; the battles, sieges, fortunes, 

That I have pass'd. 

I ran it through, even from my boyish days. 

To the very moment that he bade me tell it. 

VVherein I spoke of most disastrous chances. 

Of moving accidents, by flood and field ; * 

Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly breach ; 

Of being taken by the insolent foe, 

And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence, 

And portance in my travel's history : 

Wherein of aritres vast, and deserts wild. 

Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, 

It was my hint to speak, such was the process ; 

And of the Cannibals that each other eat, 

The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads 

Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things to hear, 

Would Desdemona seriously incline : 

But still the house affairs would draw her thence ; 

Which ever as she conld with haste dispatch, 

She'd come again, and with a greedy ear 

Devour up my discourse : Which I observing. 

Took once a pliant hour ; and found good m.eans 

To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart. 

That I would all my pilgrimage dilate. 

Whereof by parcels she had something heard, 

But not intentively : I did consent ; 

And often did beguile her of her tears. 

When I did speak of some distressful stroke, 

That my youth suffer 'd. My story being done. 

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 

She swore, — In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange 

'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful : 

She wish'd, she had not heard it ; yet she wish'd 

That heaven had made her such a man : she thank'd me ; 

And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, 

I should but teach him how to tell my story, 

And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake : 

She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd ; 

And I lov'd her, that she did pity them. 

This only is the witchcraft I have us'd : 

Here comes the lady, let her witness it. 

Enter Desjdemona, Iago, and Attendants. 

Diike. I think, this tale would win my daughter too. 
Good Brabantio, 

Take up this mangled matter at the best : 
Men do their broken weapons rather use. 
Than their bare hands. 

Bra. I pray you, hear her speak ; 

If she confess, that she was half tlio wooer, 



k 



152 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Destruction on my head, if my bad blame 
Light on the man ! — Come hither, gentle mistress ; 
Do you perceive in all this noble company. 
Where most you owe obedience ? 

Des. My noble father, 

I do perceive here a divided duty : 
To you, I am bound for life, and education ; 
My life, and education, both do learn me 
How to respect you ; you are the lord of duty, 
I am hitherto your daughter : But here's my husband ; 
And so much duty as my mother show'd 
To you, preferring you before her father. 
So much I challenge that I may profess 
Due to the Moor, my lord. 

Bra. Heaven be with you ! — I have done : — 
Come hither, Moor : 

I here do give thee that with all my heart, 
Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart, 
I would keep from thee. I have done, my lord. 
Proceed to the affairs of state. 

Duke. The Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for Cy- 
prus : — Othello, the fortitude of the place is best known to you : you 
must therefore be content to slubber the gloss of your new fortunes 
with this more stubborn and boisterous expedition. 

0th. The tyrant custom, most grave senators, 
Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war 
My thrice-driven bed of down : I do agnize 
A natural and prompt alacrity, 
I find in hardness ; and do undertake 
These present wars against the Ottomites. 
Most humbly therefore bending to your state, 
I crave fit disposition for my wife ; 
Due reference of place, and exhibition ; 
With such accommodation, and besort, 
As levels with her breeding. 

Duke. If you please, 

Be't at her father's. 

Bra. I'll not have it so. 

Oth. Nor I. 

Des. Nor I ; I would not there reside, 

To put my father in impatient thoughts. 
By being in his eye. Most gracious duke, 
To my unfolding lend a prosperous ear ; 
And let me find a charter in your voice, 
To assist my simpleness. 

Duke. What would you, Desdemona ? 

Des. That I did love the Moor to live with him, 
My downright violence and scorn of fortunes 
May trumpet to the world : my heart's subdued 



OTHELLO. 153 

Even to the very quality of my lord : 
I saw Othello's visage in his mind ; 
And to his honors, and his valiant parts, 
Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate, 
So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, 
A moth of peace, and he go to the war, 
I shall a heavy interim support 
By his dear absence : Let me go with him. 

Oth. Your voices, lords : — 'beseech you, let her will 
Have a free v/ay. 

Duke. Be it as you shall privately determine, 
Either for her stay, or going : the affair cries — haste, 
And speed must answer it ; you must hence to-night. 

Des. To-night, my lord ? 

Duke. This night. 

Oth. With all my heart. 

Duke. At nine i' the morning here we'll meet again. 
Othello, leave some officer behind, 
And he shall our commission bring to you ; 
With such things else of quality and respect, 
As doth import you. 

Oth. Please your grace, my ancient ; 

A man he is of honesty, and trust : 
To his conveyance I assign my wife. 
With what else needful your good grace shall think 
To be sent after me. 

Duke. Let it be so. — 

Good night to every one. — And, noble signior, [To Brabantio, 

If virtue no delighted beauty lack, 
Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. 

Bra. Look to her. Moor : have a quick eye to see ; 
She has deceiv'd her father, and may thee. 

[Exeunt Duke. Senators, Officers, cf-c, 

Oth. My life upon her faith. — Honest lago. 
My Desdemona must I leave to thee ; 
I pr'ythee, let thy wife attend on her ; 
And bring them after in the best advantage. — 
Come, Desdemona, I have but an hour 
Of love, of worldly matters and direction. 
To spend with thee : we must obey the time. 

[Exeunt Othello, and Desdemona. 

ACT n. 

SCENE L — A Sea-port Town in Cyprus. 

Desdemona, escorted by lago, has proceeded to Cyprus, where she is anxiously await- 
ing the arrival of Othello from his victorious expedition against the Ottomites. Cassio, 
the Moor's lieutenant, has just landed at Cyprus. 



154 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Enter Cassto, and Montano. 

Cas. Thanks to the valiant of this warlike isle 
That so approve the Moor ; O, let the heavens, 
jive him defence against the elements, 
For I have lost him on a dangerous sea ! 

Mon. Is he well shipp'd ? 

Cas. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his pilot 
Jf very expert and approv'd allowance ; 
Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, 
Stand in bold cure. 

[ Wit'hin.'] A sail, a sail, a sail ! 

Enter a Gentleman. 

Cas. What noise ? 

Gent. The town is empty ; on the brow o' the sea 
Stand ranks of people, and they cry — a sail. 

Cas. My hopes do shape him for the governor. 

Gent. They do discharge their shot of courtesy. \^Ghins heard. 
Our friends at least. 

Cas. I pray you, sir, go forth, 

And give us truth who 'tis that is arriv'd. 

Gent. T shall. [Exit, 

Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general wiv'd ? 

Cas. Most fortunately : he hath achiev'd a maid 
That paragons description, and wild fame ; 
One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, 
And in the essential vesture of creation. 
Does bear all excellency. — How now ? who has put in ? 
Re-enter Gentleman. 

Gent. 'Tis one lago, ancient to the general. 

Cas. He has made most favorable and happy speed : 
Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds, 
The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands, — 
Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel. 
As having sense of beauty, do omit 
Their mortal natures, letting go safely by 
The divine Desdemona. 

Mon. What is she ? 

Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's captain, I f 

Left in the conduct of the bold lago ; | S 

O, behold. 

Enter Desdemona, Emilia, Iago, Roderigo, and Attendants. 
The riches of the ship is come on shore ! 
Hail to thee, lady ! and the grace of heaven, 
Before, behind thee, and #n every hand. 
En wheel thee round ! I '■ 

Des. I thank you, valiant Cassio. | J- 

What tidings can you tell me of my lord ? 



OTHELLO. 155 

# 
Cas. He is not yet arriv'd ; nor know I aught 
But that he's well, and will be shortly here. 

Des. O, but I fear ; — How lost you company ? 
Cas. The great contention of tJie sea and skies 
Parted our fellowship : But, hark ! a sail. 

See for the news. — [^Exit Gentleman. 

Good ancient, you are welcome ; — Welcome, mistress : [ To Emilia. 
Let it not gall your patience, good lago, 
That I extend my manners ; 'tis my breeding 
That gives me this bold show of courtesy. \_Kissing her, 

lago. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips, 
As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, 
You'd have enough. 

Des, Alas, she has no speech. 

lago. In faith, too much ; 
I find it still, when I have list to sleep : 
Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, 
She puts her tongue a little in her heart. 
And chides with thinking. 

Emil. You have little cause to say so. 

Des. O, fye upon thee, slanderer ! 

lago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk. 

Emil. You shall not write my praise. 

lago. No, let me not. 

Des. What would'st thou write of me, if thou should'st praise me ? 

lago. O gentle lady, do not put me to't ; 
For I am nothing, if not critical. 

Des. Come on, assay : — There's one gone to the harbor ? 

lago. Ay, madam. 

Des. I am not merry ; but I do beguile 
The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. 
Concie^ how would'st thou praise me ? 

lago. I am about it ; but, indeed, my invention 
Comes from my pate, as birdhme does from frize, 
It plucks out brains and all. 
She that was ever fair, and never proud, 
Had tongue at will , and yet was never loud ; 
Never lack'd gold, and yet went never gay ; 
Fled from her wish, and yet said, — now I may. 
She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, 
Bade her wrong stay, and her displeasure fly : 
She that could think, and ne'er disclose her mind, 
See suitors following, and not look behind, 
She was a wight, — if ever such wight were, — 

Des. To do what ? 

lago. To nurse young fools, and chronicle small beer. 

Des. O most lame and impotent conclusion ! — Do not learn of him, 
Emilia, though he be thy husband. — How say you, Cas.sio ? is he not 
a most profane and liberal counsellor ? 



156 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. • 

Cas. He speaks home, madam ; you may relish him more in the 
soldier, than in the scholar. 

lago. [Aside.] He takes her by the palm : Ay, well said, whis- 
per : with as little a web as this, will I ensnare as great a fly as 
Cassio. Ay, smile upon him, do ; I will gyve thee in thine own 
courtship. You say true ; 'tis so, indeed : if such tricks as these 
strip you out of your lieutenancy, it had been better you had not 
kissed your three fingers so oft, which now again you are most apt 
to play the sir in. Very good ; well kissed ! an excellent courtesy ! 
'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to your lips ? — [Trumpet.] 
The Moor, I know his trumpet. 

Cas. 'Tis truly so. 

Des. Let's meet him, and receive him. 

Cas. Lo, where he comes ! 

Enter Othello, and Attendants. 

Oth. O my fair warrior ! 

Des. My dear Othello ! 

Oth. It gives me wonder great as my content. 
To see you here before me. O my soul's joy ! 
If after every tempest come such calms. 
May the winds blow till they have waken'd death ! 
If it were now to die, 
'Twere now to be most happy ; for, I fear, 
My soul hath her content so absolute. 
That not another comfort like to this 
Succeeds in unknown fate. 

Des. The heavens forbid, 

But that our loves and comforts should increase. 
Even as our days do grow ! 

Oth. Amen to that, sweet powers ! — 

I cannot speak enough of this content. 
It stops me here ; it is too much of joy : 

And this, and this, the greatest discords be, [Kissing her 

That e'er our hearts shall make. 

lago. O, you are well tun'd now ! 

But I'll set down the pegs that make this music, 
As honest as I am. [Aside, 

Oth. Gome's, let's to the castle. — 

News, friends ; our wars are done, the Turks are drown'd. 
How do our old acquaintance of this isle ? 
Honey, you shall be well desir'd in Cyprus, 
I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet, 
I prattle out of fashion, and I dote 
In mine own comforts. — I pr'ythee, good lago, 
Go to the bay, and disembark my coffers : 
Bring thou the master to the citadel ; 
He is a good one, and his worthiness 



OTHELLO. 157 

Does challenge much respect. — Come, Desdemona, 
Once more well met at Cyprus. 

lago now commences his plots against the Moor : his first movement is to put Othello 

" into a jealousy so strong, 

That judgment cannot cure," 

and Cassio is the instrument he selects for his purpose. Under the plea of " carousing " to 
the health of the General and his fair wife, he leads Cassio into a drunken brawl, while the 
Lieutenant is on guard at the Castle. Othello enters to learn the cause of the dis- 
turbance. 

Othello, Iago, Cassio, Montano, and Attendants. 

0th, What is the matter here ? 

Mon. I bleed still, I am hurt to the death ; — he dies. 

Oth. Hold, for your lives. 

Iago. Hold, hold, lieutenant, — sir, Montano, — gentlemen, — 
Have you forgot all sense of place and duty ? 
Hold, hold ! the general speaks to you ; hold, for shame ! 

Oth. Why, how now, ho ! from whence ariseth this ? 
Are we turn'd Turks ; and to ourselves do that, 
Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites ? 
For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl : 
He that stirs next to carv^e for his own rage. 
Holds his soul light ; he dies upon his motion. — 
Silence that dreadful bell, it frights the isle 
From her propriety. — What is the matter, masters ? — 
Honest Iago, that look'st dead with grieving. 
Speak, who began this ? on thy love, I charge thee. 

Iago. I do not know ; — friends all but now, even now : 
And then, but now, 
(As if some planet had unwitted men.) 
Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast. 
In opposition bloody. I cannot speak 

Any beginning to this peevish odds ; " ;. 

And 'would in action glorious I had lost 
These legs, that brought me to a part of it ! 

Otli. How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot ? 

Cas, I pray you, pardon me, I cannot speak. 

Oth. Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil ; 
The gravity and stillness of your youth 
The world hath noted, and your name is great 
In mouths of wisest censure ; What's the matter, 
That you unlace your reputation thus. 
And spend your rich opinion, for the name 
Of a night-brawler ? give me answer to it. 

Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger ; 
Your officer, Iago, can inform you — 

While I spare speech, which something now offends me : — 
Of all that I do know : nor know I auo'ht 



\i! 



158 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

By jne that's said or done amiss this night ; 
Unless self-charity be sometime a vice ; 
And to defend ourselves it be a sin, 
When violence assails us. 

0th. Now, by heavei;. 

My blood begins my safer guides to rule ; 
And passion, having my best judgment collied, 
Assays to lead the way : If I once stir, 
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you 
Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know 
How this foul rout began, who set it on ; 
And he that is approv'd in this offence. 
Shall lose me. — What ! in a town of war, 
Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear. 
To manage private and domestic quarrel, 
In night, and on the court and guard of safety ! 
'Tis monstrous. — lago, who began it ? 

Mon. If partially affin'd, or leagu'd in office, 
Thou dost deliver more or less than truth. 
Thou art no soldier. 

lago. Touch me not so near : 

I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth 
Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio ; 
Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth • 
Shall nothing wrong him. — Thus it is, general, 
Montano and myself being in speech. 
There comes a fellow, crying out for help ; 
And Cassio following him with determin'd sword, 
To execute upon him : Sir, this gentleman 
Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause ; 
■ Myself the crying fellow did pursue. 
Lest, by his clamor, (as it so fell out,) 
The town might fall in fright : he, swift of foot. 
Outran my purpose ; and I return'd the rather 
For that I heard the clink and fall of swords, 
And Cassio high in oath ; which, till to-night, 
I ne'er might say before : When I came back, 
(For this was brief.) I found them close together. 
At blow, and thrust ; even as again they were, 
When you yourself did part them. 
More of this matter can I not report : — 
But men are men : the best sometimes forget : — 
Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, — 
As men in rage strike those that wish them best, — 
Yet, surely Cassio, I believe, receiv'd. 
From him that fled, some strange indignity, 
Which patience cou i not pass. I L^ 

0th, I know, lago, I ^ 

Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, 



OTHELLO. 159 

Making it light to Cassio : — Cassio, I love the^ , 

But never more be officer of mine. — [Exit. 

lago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant ? 

Cas, Ay, past all surgery. 

lago. Marry, heaven forbid ! 

Cas. Reputation, reputation, reputation ! O, I have lost my repu- 
tation ! I have lost the immortal part. — My reputation, lago. my 
reputation, 

lago. As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some 
bodily wound ; there is more offence in that, than in reputation. 
Reputation is an idle and most false imposition ; oft got without 
merit, and lost without deserving : you have lost no reputation at all, 
unless you repute yourself such a loser. What, man ! there are 
ways to recover the general again : sue to him again, and he is 
yours. 

Cas. I v\ill rather sue to be despised, than to deceive so good a 
commander, with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. 
O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hadst no name to be kno\\Ti 
by, let us call thee — devil ! 

lago. What was he that you follow'd with your sword ? What 
had he done to you ? 

Cas. I know not. 

lago. Is it possible ? 

Cas. I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly ; a quar- 
rel, but nothing wherefore. — O, that men should put an enemy in 
their mouths to steal away their brains ! that we should, with joy, 
revel, pleasure, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts ! 

lago. Why, but you are now well enough : How came you thus 
recovered ? 

Cas. It hath pleased the demon drunkenness, to give place to the 
demon ^^Tath : one unperfectness shows me another to make me 
frankly despise myself. 

lago. I could heartily wish this had not befallen ; but, since it is 
as it is, mend it for your own good. 

Cas. I will ask him for my place again ; he shall tell me, I am a 
drunkard ! Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would 
stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and pre- 
sently a beast ! O strange ! — Every inordinate cup is unblessed, and 
the ingredient is a demon. 

lago. Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be 
well used ; exclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I 
think, you think I love you. 

Cas. I have well approved it, sir. — I drunk ! 

lago. You, or any man li\'ing, may be drunk at some time, man. 
I'll tell you what you shall do. Our general's wife is now the 
general ; — 1 may say so in this respect, for that he hath devoted and 
given up himself to the contemplation, mark, and denotement of her 
parts and graces : — confess yourself freely to her ; importune her ; 
she'll help to put you in your place again : she is of so fr'^e, so kind, 



k 



1(50 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

50 apt, SO blessed a disposition, that she holds it a vice in her good- 
less, not to do more than she is requested. 

Cas, You advise me well. 

lago, I protest, in the sincerity of love, and honest kindness. 

Cas. I think it freely ; and, betimes in the morning, I will beseech 
.he virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me : I am desperate of my 
fortunes, if they check me here. 

lago. You are in the right. Good night, heutenant ; I must to 
the watch. 

Cas. Good night, honest lago. [Exit Cassio. 

ACT III. 

Iago having effected the disgrace of Cassio, urges him to apply to Desdemona, to 
seek tlirough her entreaties a reconciliation with Othello. Cassio believing that lago 
" advises well," beseeches Desdemona to interfere in his behalf with her husband : she 
promises him her aid. 

iago artfully uses the kindness of Desdemona, as a means to excite the jealousy of 
Othello. 

Enter Desdemona, Cassio, and Emilia. 

Des. Be thou assur'd, good Cassio, I will do 
All my abilities in thy behalf. 

Emil. Good madam, do ; I know, it grieves my husband, 
As if the case were his. 

Des. O, that's an honest fellow. — Do not doubt, Cassio, 
But I will have my lord and you again 
As friendly as you were. 

Cas. Bounteous madam, 

Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, 
He's never any thing but your true servant. 

Des. O, sir, I thank you : You do love my lord : 
You have known him long ; and be you well assur'd, 
He shall in strangeness stand no further off 
Than in a politic distance. 

Cas. Ay, but, lady. 

That poHcy may either last so long, 
Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, 
Or breed itself so out of circumstance, 
That, I being absent, and my place supplied. 
My general will forget my love and service. 

Des. Do not doubt that : before Emilia here, 
I give thee warrant of thy place ; assure thee, 
If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it 
To the last article : my lord shall never rest ; I Or 

I'll intermingle every thing he does llpi 

With Cassio's suit :" Therefore be merry, Cassio ; I fee 

For thy solicitor shall rather die, I % 

Than give thy cause away. I T*| 



^ OTHELLO. 161 

Enter Othello aiid Iago, at a distance. 

Emil. Madam, here comes 

My lord. 

Cas, Madam, I'll take my leave. 

Des. Why, stay, 

And hear me speak. 

Cas. Madam., not now ; I am very ill ^ ease. 
Unfit for mine own purposes. 

De^ Well, well, 

Do your discretion. [Exit Cassio. 

lago. Ha ! I like not that. 

Oth. What dost thou say ? 

lago. Nothing, my lord : or if— I know not what. 

Oth. Was not that Cassio, parted from my wife ? 

lago. Cassio, my lord ? No, sure, I cannot think it, 
That he would steal away so guilty-hke, 
Seeing you coming. 

Oth. I do believe 'twas he. 

Des. How now, my lord ? 
I have been talking with a suitor here, 
A man that languishes in your displeasure. 

Oth. Who is't you mean ? 

Des. WHiy, your lieutenant Cassio. Good my lord 
If I have any grace, or power to move you. 
His present reconciliation take ; 
For, if he be not one that truly loves you, 
That errs in ignorance, and not in cunning, 
I have no judgment in an honest face : 
I pr'}i;hee, call him back. 

Oth. Went he hence now ? 

Des. Ay, sooth ; so hum.bled. 
That he hath left part of his grief with me ; 
I suffer with him. Good love, call him back. 

Oth. Not now, sweet Desdemona ; some other time. 

Des, But shall't be shortly ? 

Oth. The sooner, sweet, for you. 

Des. Shall't be to-night at supper ? 

Oth. No, not to-night. 

Des. To-morrow dinner then ? 

Oth. I shall not dine at home ; 

I meet the captains at the citadel. 

Des. Why then, to-morrow night ; or Tuesday mom ; 
Or Tuesday noon, or night ; or Wednesday morn ; — 
I pray thee, name the time ; but let it not 
Exceed three days : in faith, he's penitent. 
When shall he come ? 
Tell me, Othello. I wonder in my soul. 
What you could ask me, that I should deny, 



162 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Or stand so mammering on. What ! Michael Cassio, 
That came a wooing with yoii ; and many a time. 
When I have spoke of you dispraisingly, 
Hath ta'en your part ; to have so much to do 
To bring him in ! Trust me, I could do much. — 

Oth. I will deny thee nothing : 
Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, 
To leave me but a little to myself. 

Des. Shall I deny you ? no : Farewell, my lord. 

Oth. Farewell, my Desdemona : I will come to thee straight. 

Des. Emilia, come : — Be it as your fancies teach you ; 
Whate'er you be, I am obedient. [Exit, with Emilia. 

lago. My noble lord, 

Oth. What dost thou say, lago ? 

lago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady, 
Know of your love ? 

Oth. He did, from first to last : Why dost thou ask ? 

lago. But for a satisfaction of my thought ; 
No further harm. 

Oth. Why of thy thought, lago ? 

lago. I did not think, he had been acquainted with her. 

Oth. O, yes ; and went between us very oft. 

lago. Indeed ? 

Oth. Indeed ! ay, indeed : — Discern'st thou aught in that ? 
Is he not honest ? 

lago. Honest, my lord ? 

Oth. Ay, honest. 

lago. My lord, for aught I know. 

Oth. What dost thou think ? 

lago. Think, my lord ? 

Oth. Think, my lord » 

By heaven, he echoes me. 
As if there were some monster in his thought 
Too hideous to be shown. — Thou dost mean something : 
I heard thee say but now, — Thou lik'dst not that, 
When Cassio left my wife ; What did'st not like ? 
And, when I told thee, — he was of my counsel 
In my whole course of wooing, thou cry'dst. Indeed? 
And did'st contract and purse thy brow together, 
As if thou then had'st shut up in thy brain 
Some horrible conceit : If thou dost love me, 
Show me thy thought. 

lago. My lord, you know I love you. 

Oth. I think thou dost ; 

And, — for I know thou art full of love and honesty. 
And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them breath, 
Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more : 
For such things in a false disloyal knave, 
Are tricks of custom ; but, in a man that's just, 



OTHELLO. 163 

They are close denotements, working from the heart, 
That passion cannot rule. 

lago. For Michael Cassio, — 

I dare be sworn, I think that he is honest. 

Oth, I think so too. 

lago. Men should be what they seem ; 

Or, those that be not, 'would they might seem none ! 

Oth. Certain, men should be what they seem. 

lago. Why then, 

I think, that Cassio is an honest man. 

Oth. Nay, yet there's more in this : 
I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings. 
As thou dost ruminate ; and give thy worst of thoughts 
The worst of words. 

lago. Good my lord, pardon me ; 

Though I am bound to every act of duty, 
I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. 
Utter my thoughts ? Why, say, they are vile and false, 
As where's that palace, whereunto foul things 
Sometimes intrude not ? who has a breast so pure, 
But some uncleanly apprehensions 
Keep leets, and law-days, and in session sit 
With meditations lawful ? 

Oth. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, lago, 
If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st his ear 
A stranger to thy thoughts. 

lago. I do beseech you, — 

Though I, perchance, am vicious in my guess, 
As, I confess, it is my nature's plague 
To spy into abuses ; and, oft my jealousy 
Shapes faults that are not, — I entreat you then, 
From one that so imperfectly conjects. 
You'd take no notice ; nor build yourself a trouble 
Out of his scattering and unsure observance : — 
It were not for your quiet, nor your good. 
Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, 
To let you know my thoughts. 

Oth. What dost thou mean ? 

lago. Good name, in man, and woman, dear my lord. 
Is the immediate jewel of their souls : 

Who steals my purse, steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing : 
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; 
But he that filches from me my good name, 
Robs me of that, which not enriches him, 
And makes me poor indeed. 

Oth. By heaven, I'll know thy thought. 

lago. You cannot, if my heart were m your hand : 
Nor shall not, while 'tis in my custod: 

Oth. Ha ! 



164 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

lago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy- 
It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock 
The meat it feeds on. 

Oih. O misery ! 

lago. Poor, and content, is rich, and rich enough ; 
But riches, fineless, is as poor as winter. 
To him that ever fears he shall be poor : — 
Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend 
From jealousy ! 

Oth. Why ! why is this ? 

Think'st thou, I'd make a life of jealousy, 
To follow still the changes of the moon 
With fresh suspicions ? No : to be once in doubt, 
Is — once to be resolv'd : 
'Tis not to make me jealous. 

To say — my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, 
Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well : 
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous : 
Nor from mine own weak merits wdll I draw 
The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt ; 
For she had eyes, and chose me : No, lago ; 
I'll see, before I doubt ; when I doubt, prove ; 
And, on the proof, there is no more but this, — 
Away at once with love, or jealousy. 

lago. I am glad of this ; for now I shall have reason 
To show the love and duty that I bear you 
With franker spirit : therefore, as I am bound. 
Receive it from me : — I speak not yet of proof. 
Look to your wife ; observe her well with Cassio : 
Wear your eye — thus, not jealous, nor secure : 
I would not have your free and noble nature. 
Out of self-bounty, be abus'd ; look to't : 
She did deceive her father, marrying you ; 
And, when she seem'd to shake, and fear your looks, 
She lov'd them most. 

Oth. And so she did. 

lago. Why, go to, then ; 

She that so young, could give out such a seeming, 
To seal her father's eyes up, close as oak. 
He thought, 'twas witchcraft : — But I am much to blame ; 
I humbly do beseech you of your pardon. 
For too much loving you. 

Oth. I am bound to thee for ever 

lago. I see, this hath a little dash'd your spirits. 

Oth. Not a jot, not a jot. 

lago. Trust me, I fear it has. 

I hope, you will consider, what is spoke I ^h 

Comes from my love : — But, I do see you are mov'd : — I \ 

I am to pray you, not to strain my speech I H 



OTHELLO. 165 

To grosser issues, nor to larger reach, 
Than to suspicion. 

Oth. I will not. 

lago. Should you do so. my lord, 

My speech should fall into such \ile success 
As my thoughts aim not at. Cassio's my worthy friend : — 
My lord, I see you are mov'd. 

Oth. No, not much mov'd : — 

I do not think but Desdemona's honest. 

lago. Long live she so ! and long live you to think so ! 

Oth. And yet, how nature erring from itself, — 

lago. Ay, there's the point :— As, — to be bold with you, — 
Not to affect many proposed matches, 
Of her own clime, complexion, and degree ; 
Whereto, we see, in all things nature tends : 
Foh ! one may smell, in such, a will most rank, 
Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural. — 
But, pardon me ; I do not in position. 
Distinctly speak of her : though I may fear. 
Her \\ill, recoiling to her better judgment. 
May fall to match you with her country forms, 
And (happily) repent. 

Oth. Farewell, farewell : 

If more thou dost perceive, let me know^ more ; 
Set on thy \yife to observ'e : Leave me, lago. 

lago. My lord, I take my leave. [Going. 

Oth. Why did I marry ? — This honest creature, doubtless, 
Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds. 

lago. My lord, I would, I might entreat your honor 
To scan this thing no further ; leave it to time : 
And though it be fit that Cassio have his place, 
(For, sure, he fills it up with great ability,) 
Yet, if you please to hold him off awhile. 
You shall by that perceive liim and his means : 
Note, if your lady strain his entertainment 
With any strong or vehement importunity ; 
Much will be seen in that. In the meantime, 
Let me be thought too busy in my fears, 
(As worthy cause I have, to fear — I am,) 
And hold her free, I do beseech your honor. 

Oth. Fear not my government. 

lago. I once more take my leave. [Exit. 

Oth. This fellow's of exceeding honesty, 
And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit. 
Of human dealings : If I do prove her haggard, 
Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings, 
I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind, 
To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black ; 
And have not those soft parts of conversation 



166 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

That chamberers have : Or, for I am declin'd 
Into the vale of years ; — yet that's not much ; — 
She's gone ; I am abus'd ; and my relief 
Must be — to loath her. Desdemona comes. 

Enter Desdemona, and Emilia. 

If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself !— 
I'll not believe it. 

Des. How now, my dear Othello ? 

Your dinner, and the generous islanders 
By you invited, do attend your presence. 

Oth. I am to blame. 

Des. Why is your speech so faint ? are you not well ? 

Oth. I have a pain upon my forehead here. 

Des. Faith, that's with watching ; 'twill away again : 
Let me but bind it hard, within this hour 
It will be well. 

Otli. Your napkin is too little ; 

[jfZe futs the handkerchief from him, and it drops. 
Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you. 

Des, I am very sorry that you are not well. 

[Exeunt Oth. and Des. 

Emil. I am glad I have found this napkin ; 
This was her first remembrance from the Moor : 
My wayward husband hath a hundred times 
Woo'd me to steal it : but she so loves the token, 
(For he conjur'd her, she would ever keep it,) 
That she reserves it evermore about her, 
To kiss, and talk to. I'll have the w^ork ta'en out, 
And give it lago ; 

What he'll do with it, heaven knows, not I ; 
I nothing, but to please his fantasy. 

Enter Iago. 

lago. How now ! what do you here alone ? 

Emil. Do not you chide ; I have a tiling for you. 

Iago. A thing for me ? — it is a common thing. 

Emil. Ha! 

Iago. To have a foolish wife. 

Emil. O, is that all ? What will you give me now 
For that same handkerchief ? 

Iago. What handkerchief ? 

Emil. What handkerchief ? 
Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona ; 
That which so often you did bid me steal. 

Iago. Hast stolen it from her ? 

Emil. No, faith ; she let it drop by negligence ; I \ 

And, to the advantage, I, being here, took 't up. I Al 

Look, here it is. m% 



OTHELLO. 167 

lago. Give it me. 

Emil. What will you do with it. that you have been so earnest 
Co have me filch it ? 

lago. Why, what's that to you ? [Snaicliing it. 

Emil. If it be not for some purpose of import, 
Give it me again : Poor lady ! she'll run mad, 
When she shall lack it. 

lago. Be not you known of 't ; I have use for it. 
Go, leave me. " \Exil Emilta. 

[ v/ill in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin, 
And let him find it : Trifles, light as air. 
Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong 
As proofs of holy writ. 

Enter Othello. 

Look, where he comes ! Not poppy, nor mandragora, 
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, 
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
Which thou ov^'dst yesterday. 

0th. Ha ! ha ! false to me ? 

Tome? 

lago. Why, hov^ now, general ? no more of that ? 

0th. Avaunt ! begone ! thou hast set me on the rack. 

lago. I am sorry to hear this. 

Oth. O now, for ever, 
Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content ! 
Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, 
That make ambition virtue I O, farewell ! 
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, 
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, 
The royal banner, and all quality. 
Pride, pomp, and circumstance, of glorious war ! 
And O you mortal engines, whose rude throats 
The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit, 
Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone ! 

lago. Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief. 
Spotted with strawberries, in your wife's hand ? 

Oth. I gave her such a one ; 'twas my first gift. 

lago. I know not that : but such a handkerchief, 
(I am sure it was your wife's,) did I to-day 
See Cassio wipe his beard with. 

Oth. If it be that,— 

lago. If it be that, or any that was hers. 
It speaks against her, with the other proofs. 

Oth. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives : 
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge ! 
Now do I see 'tis true. — Look here, lago ; 
All my fond love thus I do blow to heaven : 
'Tis gone. — 



m- 



168 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ! 
Yield up, O love, thy crown, and hearted throne, 
To tyrannous hate ! swell, bosom, with thy fraught. 
For 'tis of aspicks' tongues ! 

lago. Pray, be content. 

Oth. O, blood, lago, blood ! 

lago. Patience, I say ; your mind, perhaps, may change. 

Oth. Never, lago. Like to the Pontic sea, 
Whose icy current and comipulsive course 
Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on 
To the Propontick and the Hellespont ; 
Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace. 
Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, 
Till that a capable and wide revenge 

Swallow them up. — Now, by yond' marble heaven, [^Kneels, 

In the due reverence of a sacred vow 
I here engage my words. 

lago. Do not rise yet. — [Kneels. 

Witness, you ever-burning lights above ! 
You elements that clip us round about ! 
Witness, that here lago doth give up 
The execution of his wit, hands, heart, 
To wrong'd Othello's service ! let him command, 
And to obey shall be in me remorse, 
What bloody work soever. 

Oth. I greet thy love, 

Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous, 
And will upon the instant put thee to't : 
Within these three days let me hear thee say, 
That Cassio's not alive. 

lago. My friend is dead ; 'tis done, at your request : 
But let her live. [Exeunt, 

SCENE TV.— The same. 
Enter Desdemona, and Emilia. 

Des. Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia ? 

Emil. I know not, madam. 

Des. Believe me : — And, but my noble Moor 
Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness 
As jealous creatures are, it were enough 
To put him to ill thinking. I jj 

Emil. Is he not jealous ? m[^ 

Des. Who, he ? I think, the sun, where he was bom, 
Drew all such humors from him. 

Emil. Look, where he comes. 

Des. I will not leave him now, till Cassio 
Be call'd to him. — How is't with you, my lord ? 



OTHELLO. 169 



Enter Othello. 



Oih. Well, my good lady ; — [Aside.] — O. hardness to dissemble !- 
How do you, Desdemona ? 

Des. Well, my good lord 

0th. Give me' your hand : 'Tis a good hand, 
A frank one. 

Des. You may, indeed, say so ; 
For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart. 

Oth. A liberal hand : The hearts, of old, gave hands : 
But our new heraldry is — hands, not hearts. 

Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now your promise. 

Oth. What promise, chuck ? 

Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you. 

Otk. I have a salt and sullen rheum offends me ; 
Lend me thy handkerchief. 

Des. Here, my lord. 

Oth. That which I gave you. 

Des. I have it not about me. 

Oth. Not? 

Des. No, indeed, mv lord. 

Oth. ' That is a fault. 

That handkerchief 
Did an Egy-ptian to my mother give ; 
She was a charmer, and could almost read 
The thoughts of people : she told her, while she kept it, 
'Twould make her amiable, and subdue my father 
Entirely to her love ; but if she lost it. 
Or made a gift of it, my father's eye 
Should hold her loathly, and his spirits should hunt 
After new fancies : She, d}ing, gave it me ; 
And bid me, when my fate would have me \\'ive, 
To give it her. J did so : and take heed oft. 
Make it a darUng Hke your precious eye ; 
To lose or give't away, were such perdition. 
As nothing else could match. 

Des. Is it possible ? 

Oth. 'Tis true ; There's magic in the web of it. 
A sibyl, that had nmnber'd in the world 
The sun to make two hundred compasses, 
In her prophetic fury sew'd the work : 
The worms were hallow 'd that did breed the silk ; 
And it was dy'd in mummy, which the skilful 
Conserved of maidens' hearts. 

Des. Indeed ! is't true ? 

Oth. Most veritable ; therefore look to't well. 

Des. Then would to heaven, that I had never seen it, 

Oth. Ha! wherefore? 

Des. W^hy do vou speak so startingly and rash ? 

9 



170 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Olh. Is't lost ? is't gone ? speak, is it out of the way ? 

Des. Heaven bless us I 
• Olh, Say you ? 

Des. It is not lost ; But what and if it were ? 

Oth. Ha! 

Des. I say, it is not lost. 

Oth. Fetch't, let me see it. 

Des. Why. so I car./, sir, but I will not now ; 
This is a trick, to put me from my suit ; 
I pray, let Cassio be receiv'd again. 

Oth. Fetch me that handkerchief : my mind misgives. 

Des. Come, come ; 
You'll never meet a more sufficient man. 

Oth. The handkerchief, 

Des. I pray, talk me of Cassio. 

Oth. The handkerchief, 

Des. A man that, all his time, 

Hath founded his good fortune on your love, 
Shar'd dangers with you ; 

Oth. The handkerchief, 

Des. In sooth. 
You are to blame. 

Oth. Away ! [Exit Othello 

Emil. Is not this man jealous ? 

Des. I ne'er saw this before. 
Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief: 
1 am most unnappy in the loss of it. 

Emil. 'Tis not a year or two shows us a man : 
Look you ! Cassio and my husband. 

Enter Iago, and Cassio. 

lago. There is no other way ; 'tis she must do't ; ij 

And, lo, the happiness ! go, and importune her. fS 

Des. How now, good Cassio ? what's the news with you ? 

Cas. Madam, my former suit : T do beseech you, 
That, by your virtuous means, I may again 
Exist, and be a member of his love. 

Des. Alas ! thrice-gentle Cassio> 

My advocation is not now in tune ; 
My lord is not my lord ; nor should I know him, 
Were he in favor, as in humor, alter'd. 
So help me, eveiy spirit sanctified. 
As I have spoken for you all my best, 
And stood within the blank of his displeasure, 

For my free speech ! You must a while be patient : ' 

What I can do, I will ; and more I will, 
Than for myself I dare : let that suffice you. 

Iago. Is my lord angry ? 



OTHELLO. "" 171 

Ernil. He went hence but now. 

And, certainly, in strange unquietness. 

lago. Can he be angry ? v 

Something of moment, then : I will go meet him ; 
There's matter in't indeed, if he be angr}^ 

Des. I pr'ythee do so. — Something, sure, of state, — [Exit Iago. 
Either from Venice ; or some unhatch'd practice, 
Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him. — 
Hath puddled his clear spirit : and. in such cases. 
Men's natures wrangle with inferior things. 
Though great ones are their object. 
Nay, we must think, men are not gods ; 
Nor of them look for such observances 
As fit the bridal. 

Emil, Pray heaven, it be state matters, as you think, 
And no conception, nor no jealous toy, 
Concerning you. 

Des. Alas, the day ! I never gave him cause. 

Emil. But jealous souls will not be answer'd so ; 
They are not ever jealous for the cause. 
But jealous for they are jealous. 

Des. I will go seek Othello. — Cassio, w^alk hereabout : |HJE' 
If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit, ^^ 

And seek to affect it to my uttermost. 

Cas. I humbly thank your ladyship. 

[Exeunt Desdemona, and Ejiilla.. 

The catastrophe of this noble domestic tragedy, is foreshadowed in our extracts. 
Othello, convinced of his wife's dishonor, is instigated by rage and jealonsy to take her 
life. But the innocence of Desdemona is proved by the confession of Emilia, and the 
discovery of lago's treachery. Othello, overwhelmed with grief and remorse destroys 
himself, and Iago is delivered a prisoner into the hands of justice. 



THE TEMPEST. 



The Tempest is supposed to be the last production of Shakspeare's mighty genius ; 
as it is generally acknowledged to be the most original and perfect of his works. In this 
Play the Poet hcis literally " given to airy nothings a local habitation and a name," en- 
dowing them with qualities and furnishing them with a fitness of language, which invests 
these creatures of his imaginings with all the charm and semblance of reality. 

The story is simple in its construction, yet it is deeply interesting. Our selections p\?- 
sent the main incidents of the plot in consecutive succession. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Alonzo, King of Naples. 
Sebastian, his brother. 
Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan. 
Antonio, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan. 
Ferdinand, son to the King of Naples. 
GoNZALO, an honest old counsellor of Naples. 
Adrian, Francisco, lords. 
Caliban, a savage and deformed slave. 
Trinculo, a jester. 
Stephano, a drunken butler, 
blaster of a ship, Boatswain, and Mariners. 
Miranda, daughter to Frospero. 
Ariel, an airy spirit. 

Iris, Ceres, Juno, Nymphs, Reapers, spirits. 
Other spirits attendirig on Prospero. 

act I. 

SCENE. — The Sea, with a Ship; afterwards an uninhabited Island. 

Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan, has been dethroned by his brother Antonio 
and banished from his .dominions. Prospero seeks refuge in a desert island, with his 
daughter Miranda, and by magic arts, surrounds himself with "potent spirit?." which 



THE TEIVIPEST. 173 

are obedient to his will. Having learned by his " magic " that his brother Antonio has 
embarked in a vessel for Naples, in company with Alonzo, King of Naples, the king's 
son, Ferdinand, together with certain lords of Milan and Naples, Prospero commands his 
trusty spirit Ariel, to wreck the vessel near the island, but to save the lives of the noble 
passengers and crew, and bring them safely to shore. Prospero and his daughter Miranda, 
witness the destruction of the vessel, 

SCENE U.—The Island: before the Cell of Prospero. 
Enter Prospero, and Miranda. 

Alira. If by your art, my dearest father, you have 
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them : 
The sky, it seems, w^ould pour down stinking pitch, 
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek. 
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd 
With those that I saw suffer ! a brave vessel, 
Who had no doubt some noble creatures in her, 
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock 
Against my very heart ! Poor souls ! they perish'd. 
Had I been any god of power, I would 
Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er 
It should the good ship so have swallowed, and 
The freighting souls within her. 

Pro. Be collected ; 

No more amazement : tell your piteous heart. 
There's no harm done. 

Mir a. O, woe the day ! 

Pro. No harm. 

I have done nothing but in care of thee, 
(Of thee, my dear one ! thee, my daughter !) who 
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing 
Of whence I am ; nor that I am more better 
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell. 
And thy no greater father. 

Mir a. More to know 

Did never meddle with my thoughts. 

Pro. 'Tis time 

I should mform thee further. Lend thy hand. 
And pluck my magic garment from me. — So ; [Lays down his mantle^ 
Lie there my art. — Wipe thou thine eyes ; have comfort. 
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd 
The very \irtue of compassion in thee, 
I have with such provision in mine art 
So safely order'd, that there is no soul — 
No, not so much perdition as a hair, 
Betid to any creature in the vessel 

Which thou heard'st cry, w^hich thou saw'st sink. — Sit down ; 
For thou must now know further. 

Mira. You have often 

Begun to tell me what E am ; but stopp'd 



174 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

And left me to a bootless inquisition ; 
Concluding, Stay, not yet. — 

Pro. The hour's now come ; 

The very minute bids thee ope thine ear ; 
Obey, and be attentive. Can'st thou remember 
A time before we came unto this cell ? 
I do not think thou can'st ; for then thou wast not 
Out three years old. 

Mir a. Certainly, sir, I can. 

Pro. By what ? by any other house, or person ? 
Of any thing the image tell me, that 
Hath kept with thy remembrance. 

Mlra. 'Tisfaroff: 

And rather like a dream than an assuranqe 
That my remembrance warrants : Had I not 
Four or five women once, that tended me ? 

Pro. Thou had'st, and more, Miranda : But how is it, 
That this Hves in thy mind ? What seest thou else 
In the dark backward and abysm of time ? 
If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here, 
How thou cam'st here, thou may'st. 

Mira. But that I do not. 

Pro. Twelve years since, Miranda, twelve years since, 
Thy father was the duke of Milan, and 
A prince of power. 

Mira. Sir, are not you my father ? 

Pro. Thy mother w^as a piece of virtue, and 
She said — thou wast my daughter ; and thy father 
Was duke of Milan ; and his only heir 
A princess, no worse issued. 

Mira. O, the heavens ! 

What foul play had we, that we came from thence ; 
Or blessed was't, we did ? 

Pro. Both, both, my girl ; 

By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence ; 
But blessedly holp hither. 

Mira. O, my heart bleeds 

To think o' the teen* that I have turn'd you to. 
Which is from my remembrance ! Please you, further. 

Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio, — 
I pray thee, mark me,— that a brother should 
Be so perfidious ! — he whom, next thyself, 
Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put 
The manage of my state ; as, at that time. 
Through all the signories it was tlie first. 
And Prospero the prime duke ; being so reputed 
In dignity, and, for the liberal arts. 
Without a parallel : those being all my study, 

* Sorrow. 



THE TEBIPEST. 175 

The government I cast upon my brother, 
And to my state grew stranger, being transported, 
And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle — 
Dost thou attend me ? 

Mira. Sir, most heedfully. 

Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits. 
How to deny them ; whom to advance, and whom 
To trash* for over-topping ; new created 
The creatures that were mine ; I say, or chang'd them, 
Or else new form'd them ; having* both the key 
Of officer and office, set all hearts i' th' state 
To what tune pleas'd his ear ; that now he was 
The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk, 
And suck'd my verdure out on't. — Thou attend'st not : 
I pray thee, mark me. 

Mira. O good sir, I do. 

Pro. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicate 
To closeness, and the bettering of my mind 
With that, which, but by being so retired. 
O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother 
Awak'd an evil nature : and my trust, 
Like a good parent, did beget of him 
A falsehood, in its contrary as great 
As my trust was : which had, indeed, no limit, 
A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, 
Not only with what my revenue yielded. 
But what my power might else exact, — like one, 
Who having, unto truth, by telling of it. 
Made such a sinner of his memory. 
To credit his own lie, — he did believe 
He was indeed the duke ; out of the substitution, 
And executing the outward face of royalty. 
With all prerogative : — Hence his ambition 
Growing, — Dost thou hear ? 

Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. 

Pro. To have no screen between this part he play'd. 
And him he play'd it for, he needs will be 
Absolute Milan : Me, poor man ! — my library 
Was dukedom large enough ; of temporal royalties 
He thinks me now incapable : confederates 
(So dry he was for sway) with the king of Naples, 
To give him annual tribute, do him homage ; 
Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend 
The dukedom, yet unbow'd, (alas, poor Milan !) 
To most ignoble stooping. 

Mira. O the heavens ! 

Pro. Mark his condition, and the event ; then tell me 
If this might be a brother. 

* Cut away. 



176 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Mij^a. I should sin 

To think but nobly of my grandmother. 

Pro. Now the condition. 

This king of Naples, being an enemy 
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit ; 
Which was, that he in lieu o' the premises, — 
Of homage, and I know not how much tribute, 
Should presently extirpate me and mine 
Out of the dukedom ; and confer fair Milan, 
With all the honors, on my brother : Whereon, 
A treacherous army levied, one midnight 
Fated to the purpose, did Antonio open 
The gates of Milan ; and, i' the dead of darkness, 
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence 
Me, and thy crying self. 

Alira. Alack, for pity ! 

I, not remembering how I cry'd out then. 
Will cry it o'er again : it is a hint. 
That wrings mine eyes to't. 

Pro. Hear a little farther, 

And then I'll bring thee to the present business 
Which now's upon us ; without the which, this story 
Were most impertinent. 

iV/ira. Wherefore did they not 

That hour destroy us ? 

Pro. Well demanded, girl ; 

My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not ; 
(So dear the love my people bore me.) nor set 
A mark so bloody on the business ; but 
With colors fairer painted their foul ends. 
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark ; 
Bore us some leagues to sea ; where they prepar'd 
A rotten carcase of a boat, not rigg'd, 
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast ; the very rats 
Instinctively had quit it : there they hoist us, 
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us ; to sigh 
To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again, 
Did us but loving wrong. 

Mir a. Alack ! what trouble 

Was I then to you ! 

Pro. O ! a cherubim 

Thou wast, thou didst preserve me ! Thou didst smile, 
Infused with a fortitude from heaven, — 
When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt ; 
Under my burden groan'd ; which rai^'d in me 
An undergoing stomach, to bear up 
Against what should ensue. 

Mira. How came we ashore ? 

Pro. Bv Providence divine. 



THE TEMPEST. j 77 

Some food we had, and some fresh water, that 

A noble Neapohtan, Gonzalo, 

Out of his charity, (who being then appointed 

Master of this design,) did give us ; with 

Rich garments, Hnens, stuffs, and necessaries. 

Which since have steaded much ; so, of his gentleness, 

Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me, 

From my own library, with volumes that 

I prize above my dukedom. 

Mira, 'Would I might 

But ever see that man ! 

Pro. Now I arise : — 

Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. 
Here in this island we arrived ; and here 
Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit 
Than other princes can, that have more time 
For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. 

Mira. Heavens thank you for't ! And now, I pray you, sir, 
(For still 'tis beating in my mind,) your reason 
For raising this sea-storm ? 

Pro. Know thus far forth. — 

By accident most strange, bountiful fortune, 
Now, my dear lady, hath mine enemies 
Brought to this shore : and by my prescience 
I find my zenith doth depend upon 
A most auspicious star ; whose influence 
If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes 
Will ever after droop. — Here cease more questions ; 
Thou art inclin'd to sleep ; 'tis a good dulness. 
And give it way ; — I know thou can'st not choose. 

[Miranda sleeps. 
Come away, servant, come : I am ready now ; 
Approach, my Ariel ; come. 

Enter Ariel. 

Ari. All hail, great master ! grave sir, hail ! I come 
To answer thy best pleasure ; be't to fly, 
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride 
On the curl'd clouds ; to thy strong bidding, task 
Ariel and all his quality. 

Pro. Hast thou, spirit, 

Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee ? 

Ari. To every article. 
I boarded the king's ship ; now on the beak, 
Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, 
1 flam'd amazement : Sometimes, I'd divide. 
And burn in many places ; on the top-mast. 
The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, 
Then meet, and join : Jove's lightnings, the precursors 



178 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

O' tlie dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary 
And sight-out-running were not : The fire, and cracks 
Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune 
Seem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble, 
Yea, his dread trident shake. 

Pro. My brave spirit ! 

Who w^as so firm, so constant, that this coil* 
Would not infect his reason ? 

Ari. Not a soul 

But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd 
Some tricks of desperation : All, but mariners, 
Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, 
Then all a-fire with me. The king's son, Ferdinand, 
With hair up-staring, (then like reeds, not hair,) 
Was the first man that leap'd. 

Pro. Why, that's my spirit ! 

But was not this nigh shore ? 

Ari. Close by, my master. 

Pro, But are they, Ariel, safe ? 

Ari. Not a hair perish'd , 

On their sustaining garments not a blemish. 
But fresher than before : and, as thou bad'st me. 
In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle : 
The king's son have I landed by himself; 
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs. 
In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting. 
His arms in this sad knot. 

Pro. Of the king's ship, 

The mariners, say, how thou hast dispos'd, 
And all the rest o' the fleet ? 

Ari. Safely in harbor 

Is the king's ship ; in the deep nook, w^here once 
Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew 
From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid : 
The mariners all under hatches stow'd ; 
Whom, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labor, 
I have left asleep : and for the rest o' the fleet. 
Which I dispers'd, they all have met again ; 
And are upon the Mediterranean flote,f 
Bound sadly home for Naples ; 
Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd, 
And his great person perish. I \ 

Pro. Ariel, thy charge I ^ 

Exactly is perform'd ; but there's more work : I ^ 

What is the time o' the day ? I j^ 

Ari. Past the mid season. ■ j| 

Pro. At least two glasses : the time 'twixt six and now I l 

Must by us both be spent most preciously. 

* Bustle, tumult. f Wave. 



THE TEMPEST. 179 

An. Is there more toil ? — Since thou dost give me pains, 
Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd, 
Whic/. is not yet perform'd me. 

Pro. How now ? moody ? 

What is't thou can'st demand ? 

Ari. , ' My liberty. 

Pro. Before the time be out ? no more. 

Ari. I pray thee 

Remember, I have done thee v/orthy service ; 
Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv'd 
Without or grudge, or grumbUngs : thou didst promise 
To bate me a full year. 

Pro. Dost thou forget 

From what a torment E did free thee ? 

Ari. No. 

Pro. Thou dost ; and think'st 
It much to tread the ooze of the salt deep ; 
To run upon the sharp wind of the north ; 
To do me business in the veins o' the earth, 
When it is bak'd with frost. 

Ari. I do not, sir. 

Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing ! Hast thou forgot 
The foul witch Sycorax, w^ho with age and envy. 
Was grown into a hoop ? hast thou forgot her ? 

Ari. No, sir. 

Pro. Thou hast : Where was she born ? speak tell me. 

Ari. Sir, in Argier. 

Pro. O, was she so ? I must, 

Once in a month, recount what thou hast been, 
Which thou forget'st. This vile witch, Sycorax, 
For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible 
To enter human hearing, from Argier, 
Thou know'st, was banish'd ; for one thing she did. 
They would not take her life : Is not this true ? 

Ari. Ay, sir. 

Pro. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought, 
And here was left by the sailors : Thou, my slave, 
As thou report'st thyself, was then her servant : 
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate 
To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands. 
Refusing her grand bests, she did confine thee. 
By help of her more potent ministers. 
And in her most unmitigable rage, 
Into a cloven pine ; within which rift 
Imprison'd, thou did'st painfully remain 
A dozen years ; within which space she died. 
And left thee there ; where thou didst vent thy groans. 
As fast as mill-whee.s strike : Then was this island, 



I. 



180 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Saving her son, not honor 'd with 
A human shape. 

Ari. Yes ; Caliban her son. 

Pro. Dull thing, I say so ; he, that Caliban, 
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st 
What torment I did find thee in : thy groans 
Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts 
Of ever-angry bears. This Sycorax 
Could not again undo ; it was mine art, 
When I arriv'd, and heard thee, that made gape 
The pine, and let thee out. 

Ari. I thank thee, master. 

Pro. Jf thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak. 
And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till 
Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. 

Ari. Pardon, master : 

I will be correspondent to command, 
And do my spiriting gently. 

Pro. Do so ; and after two days 

I will discharge thee. 

Ari. That's my noble master ! 

What shall I do ? say what ? what shall I do ? 

Pro. Go, make thyself like to a nymph o' the sea ; 
Be subject to no sight but mine ; invisible 
To every eyeball else. Go, take this shape, 

And hither come in't : hence, with diligence. [Exit Ariel. 

Awake, dear heart, awake ! thou hast slept well ; 
Awake ! 

Mira. The strangeness of your story put 
Heaviness in me. 

Pro. Shake it off; Come on ; 

We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never 
Yields us a kind answer. 

Mira. 'Tis a villain, sir, 

I do not love to look on. 

Pro. But, as 'tis, 

We cannot miss him : he does make our fire. 
Fetch in our wood ; and serves in offices 
That profit us. What ho ! slave ! Caliban ! 
Thou earth, thou ! speak. 

Cal. [within.] There's wood enough within. 

Pro. Come forth, 1 say ; there's other business for thee : 
Come forth, thou tortoise ! when ? 

Re-enter Ariel, like a water-nymph. 

Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel, 

Hark in thine ear. I j 

Ari. My lord, it shall be done. [Exit. (I j 

Pro. Thou poisonous slave, come forth ! 



THE TEMPEST. 18.1 



Eriler Caliban. 



Cal. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd 
With raven's feather from unwholesome fen, 
Drop on you both ! a south-west blow on ye, 
And blister you all o'er. 

Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps, 
Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up ; urchins 
Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, 
Ail exercise on thee : thou shalt be pinch'd 
As thick as honey-combs, each pinch more stinging 
Than bees that made them. 

Cal. I must eat my dinner. 

This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother. 
Which thou tak'st from me. When thou camest first. 
Thou strok'dst me, and mad'st much of me ; would'st give me 
Water with berries in't ; and teach me how 
To name the bigger light, and how the less, 
That burn by day and night : and then I lov'd thee. 
And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle. 
The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and fertile ; 
Cursed be I that I did so ! — All the charms 
Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, Hght on you ! 
For I am all the subjects that you have. 
Which first was mine own king ; and here you sty me 
In this hard rock, while you do keep from me 
The rest of the island. 

Pro. Abhorred slave ; 

Which any print of goodness will not take ; 
Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee, 
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour 
One thing or other : when thou did'st not, savage, 
Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like 
A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes 
With words that made them known : But thy vile race. 
Though thou did'st learn, had that in't which good natures 
Could not abide to be with ; therefore w^ast thou 
Deservedly confin'd into this rock. 
Who had'st deserv'd more than a prison. 

Cal. You taught me language ; and my profit on't 
Is, I know how to curse : the red^lague rid* you. 
For learning me your language ! 

Pi'o. Hag-seed, hence ! 

Fetch us in fuel ; and be quick, thou wert best, 
To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, maUce ? 
If thou neglect'st, or dost unwilUngly 
What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps ; 
Fill all thy bones with aches ; make thee roar 
That beasts shall tremble at thy din. 

* Destroy. 



1S2 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Cal. No, pray thee ! — 

I must obey : his art is of such power, [Aside. 

It would control my dam's god, Setebos, 
And make a vassal of him. 

Pro. So, slave ; hence ! [Exit Caliban. 

Re-enter Ariel invisible, flaying and singing; Ferdinand fol" 
lowing liim. 

Fer. Where should this music be ? i' the air, or the earth '? 
It sounds no more : — and sure it waits upon 
Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank 
Weeping again the king my father's wreck, 
This music crept by me upon the waters ; 
Allaying both their fury, and my passion. 
With its sweet air : thence I have follow'd it, 
Or it hath drawn me rather : — But 'tis gone. 
No, it begins again. 

Ariel sings. 

Full fathom Jive thy father lies : 

Of his bones are coral made ; 
Those are pearls, that were his eyes : 

Nothing of him that doth fade, 
Bui doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and strange. 
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 
^ Hark ! now I hear them, ding-dong, bell, 
[Burden, ding-dong. 

Fer. The dittty does remember my drown'd father : — 
This is no mortal business, nor no sound 
That the earth owns : — I hear it now above me. 

Pro. The fringed curtain of thine eye advance 
And say, what thou seest yond. 

Mira. What is't ? a spirit ? 

See, how it looks about ! Believe me, sir. 
It carries a brave form : — But 'tis a spirit. 

Pro. No, wench ; it eats and sleeps, and hath such senses 
As we have ; such : This gallant, which thou seest, 
Was in the wreck ; and but he's something stain'd 
With grief — that's beauty's canker — thou might' st call him 
A goodly person. He hath lost his fellows. 
And strays about to find them. 

Mii'a. I might call him 

A thing divine ; for nothing natural 
I ever saw so noble. 

Pro. [Aside.] It goes on, I see. 

As my soul prompts it : — Spirit, fine spirit ! I'll free thee 
Within two days for this. 



THE TEMPEST. 183 

Fer. Most sure, the goddess 

On whom these airs attend ! — Vouchsafe, my prayer 
May know, if you remain upon this island ; 
And that you will some good instruction give, 
How I may bear me here : My prime request. 
Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder ! 
If you be maid or no ? , . 

Mir a. No wonder, sir ; p^ 

But, certainly a maid. 

Fer, My language ! heavens ! — 

I am the best of them that speak this speech. 
Were I but where 'tis spoken. 

Pro, How ! the best ? 

What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee ? 

Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders 
To hear thee speak of Naples : He does hear me ; 
And, that he does, I weep : myself am Naples ; 
Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld 
The king my father wreck'd. 

Mira. Alack, for mercy ! 

Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords ; the duke of Milan, 
And his brave son, being twain. 

Pro. The duke of MUan, 

And his more braver daughter, could control thee, 
If now 'twere fit to do't : — At the first sight [^Aside, 

They have chang'd eyes : — Delicate Ariel, 
I'll set thee free for this ! — A word, good sir ; 
I fear you have done yourself some wrong : a word. 

Mira. Why speaks my father so ungently ? This 
Is the third man that e'er I saw ; the first 
That e'er I sigh'd for : pity move my father 
To be inclin'd my way ! 

Fer. . O, if a virgin. 

And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you 
The queen of Naples. 

Pro. Soft, sir ; one word more. — 

They are both in either's powers ; but this swift business [Aside* 
I must uneasy make, lest too light winning 
Make the prize light. — One word more ; I charge thee, 
That thou attend me : thou dost here usurp 
The name thou ow'st not ; and hast put thyself 
Upon this island, as a spy, to win it 
From me, the lord on't. 

Fer. No, as I am a man. 

Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple : 
If the ill spirit have so fair an hoT:ise, 
Good things will strive to dwell with't. 

Pro. Follow me. — [To Ferd. 

Speak not you for him ; he's a traitor. — Come. 



184 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

I'll manacle thy neck and feet together : 
Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy food shall be 
The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and husks 
Wherein the acorn cradled : Follow. 

Fer, No ; 

I will resist such entertainment, till 
Mine enemy has more power. [He draws, 

Mir a. O dear father, 

Make not too rash a trial of him, for 
He's gentle, and not fearful.* 

Pro. What, I say. 

My foot my tutor ! Put' thy sword up, traitor ; 
Who mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy conscience 
Is so possess 'd with guilt : come ; from thy ward ; 
For I can here disarm thee with this stick, 
And make thy weapon drop. 

Mim. Beseech you, father ! 

Pro. Hence ; hang not on my garments. 

Mira. Sir, have pity, 

I'll be his surety. 

Pro. Silence ! one word more 

Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What ! 
An advocate for an impostor ? hush ! 
Thou think'st there are no more such shapes as he, 
Having seen but him and Caliban : Foolish wench ! 
To the most of men this is a Caliban, 
And they to him are angels. 

Mira. My affections 

Are then most humble ; I have no ambition 
To see a goodher man. 

Pro. Come on ; obey : [To Ferd. 

Thy nerves are in their infancy again, 
And have no vigor in them. 

Fer. So they are : 

My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. 
My father's loss, the weakness v/hich I feel, 
The wreck of all my friends, or this man's threats, 
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, 
Might I but through my prison once a day 
Behold this maid : all corners else of the earth 
Let liberty make use of ; space enough 
Have I, in such a prison. 

Pro. It works : — Come on. — 

Thou hast done well, fine Ariel !— Follow me.-^ [ To Ferd. and Mir. 
Hark, what thou else shalt do me. [To Ariel 

,/^^>f , Be of comfort; 

My father's of a better nature, sir, 

* Frightful 



THE TEMPEST. 185 

Than he appears by speech ; this is unwonted. 
Which now came from him. 

Pro. Thou shalt be as free 

As mountain winds ; but then exactly do 
All points of my command. 

Ari. To the syllable. 

Pro. Come, follow : speak not for him. [Exeunt, 

Ferdinand is compelled, by the power of Prosper©, to assume the menial employment 
of an attendant on the Magician, the more readily to bring the young Prince into an ac- 
quaintance with Miranda, who regards him with affection. 

ACT III. 

SCENE l.-^Before Prospero's Cell 

Enter Ferdinand, hearing a log. 

Fer. There be some sports are painful ; but their labor 
Delight in them sets off; some kinds of baseness 
Are nobly undergone ; and most poor matters 
Point to rich ends. This my mean task would be 
As heavy to me, as 'tis odious ; but 
The mistress, which I serve, quickens what's dead, 
And makes my labors pleasures : O, she is 
Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed ; 
And he's compos'd of harshness. I must remove 
Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up. 
Upon a sore injunction : My sweet mistress 
Weeps when she sees me work ; and says, such baseness 
Had ne'er like executor. I forget : 
But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labors ; 
Most busy, least when I do it. 

Enter Miranda, and Prospero at a distance, 

Mir a. Alas, now ! pray you 

Work not so hard ; I would the lightning had 
Burnt up those logs, that you are enjoin'd to pile ! 
Pray, set it down, and rest you : when this burns, 
'Twill weep for having wearied you : My father 
Is hard at study ; pray now, rest yourself ; 
He's safe for these three hours. 

Fer. O most dear mistress, 

The sun will set, before I shall discharge 
What I must strive to do. ^ 

Mira. If you'll sit down, 

I'll bear your logs the while : Pray, give me that ; 
I'll carry it to the pile. 

Fer. No : precious creature ! 

I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, 



186 SHAKSPEARIA.N READER. 

Than you should such disJionor undergo, 
While I sit lazy by. 

Mir a. It would become me 

As well as it does you : and I should do it 
With much more ease ; for my good will is to it, 
And yours it is against. 

Pro. Poor worm ! thou art infeoited ; 

This visitation shows it. 

Mira. You look wearily. 

Fe7\ No, noble mistress ; 'tis fresh morning with ms 
When you are by at night. I do beseech you, 
(Chiefly, that I might set it in m.y prayers,) 
What is your name ? 

Mira. Miranda : — O my father, 

I have broke your best to say so ! 

Fer. Admir'd Miranda ! 

Indeed, the top of admiration ; worth 
What's dearest to the world ! Full many a lady 
I have ey'd with best regard ; and many a time 
The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage 
Brought my too diligent ear : for several virtues 
Have I Hk'd several women ; never any 
With so full soul, but some defect in her 
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd, 
And put it to the foil : But you, O you. 
So perfect and so peerless, are created 
Of every creature's best. 

Mira. I do not know 

One of my sex ; no woman's face remember. 
Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I seen 
More that I may call men, than you, good friend, 
And my dear father : how features are abroad, 
I am skilless of ; but, by my modesty, 
(The jewel in my dower,) I would not wish 
Any companion in the world but you ; 
Nor can imagination form a shape. 
Beside yourself, to like of ; But I prattle 
Something too widely, and my father's precepts 
I therein do forget. 

Fer. I am, in my condition, 

A prince, Miranda ; I do think, a king ; 
(I would, not so !) and would no more endure 
This wooden slavery, than I would suffer 
The flesh-fly blow my mouth. — Hear my soul speak ; — 
The very instant that I saw you, did 
My heart fly to your service ; there resides. 
To make me slave to it ; and for your sake, 
Am I this patient log-man. 

Mira. Do vou love me ? 



i 



THE TEMPEST. 187 

Fer. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound. 
And crown what I profess with kind event, 
If I speak true ; if hollowly, invert 
What best is boded me, to mischief ! I, 
Beyond all limit of what else i' the world, 
Do love, prize, honor you. 

Mir a. I am a fool, ^ 

To weep at what I am glad of. ^ 

Pro. Fair encounter 

Of two most rare affections ! Heavens rain grace 
On that which breeds betv/een them ! 

Fer. Wherefore weep you ? 

Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer 
What I desire to give ; and much less take. 
What I shall die to want : But this is trifling ; 
And all the more it seeks to hide itself. 
The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning ! 
And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! 

I am your v/ ife, if you will marry me ; ^ 

If not, I'll die your maid : to be your fellow 
You may deny me ; but I'll be your servant, 
Whether you will or no. 

Fer. My mistress, dearest, 

And I thus humble ever. 

Mira. ^ My husband then ? 

Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing 
As bondage e'er of freedom : here's my hand. 

Mira. And mine, with my heart in't : And now farewell, 
Till half an hour hence. 

Fer. A thousand ! thousand ! 

[^Exeunt Fer. and Mm, 

Pro. So glad of this as they, I cannot be, 
Who are surpris'd with all ; but my rejoicing 
At nothing can be more. I'll to my book ; 
For yet ere supper time, must I perform 
Much business appertaining. [^Exit. 

Caliban and Ariel, under the direction of Prospero, take charge of the other characters 
saved from the wreck. CaHban, to whom is confided the care of the Sailore, draws 
them into a conspiracy to destroy Prospero. The King and his Company are brought by 
Ariel to another part of the Island. ' 

Enter Ai^o^zo, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco, 
and others. 

Gon. By'r la'kin, I can go no further, sir ; 
My old bones ache : here's a maze trod, indeed. 
Through forth-rights and meanders ! by your patience, 
I needs must rest me. 

Alan. Old lord, I cannot blame thee. 



188 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Who am myself attach'd with weariness, 
To the dulling of my spirits : sit down, and rest. 
Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it 
No longer for my flatterer : he is drown'd. 
Whom thus we stray to find ; and the sea mocks 
Our frustrate search on land : Well, let him go. 

Ant. I am right glad that he's so out of hope. 

[Aside to Sebastian. 
Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose 
That you resolv'd to effect. 

Seb. The next advantage 

Will we take thoroughly. 

Ant. Let it be to-night ; 

For, now they are oppress'd Vv^ith travel, they 
Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance, 
As when they are fresh. 

Seb. I say, to-night : no more. 

Solemn and strange music ; and Prospero above, invisible. Enter 

several strange Shapes, bringing in a banquet ; they dance about it 

with gentle actions of salutation ; ami inviting the King, <^c. to eat^ 

they depart, 

Alon. What harmony is this ? my good friends, hark ! 

Gon. Marvellous sweet music ! 

Alon. Give us kind keepers, heavens ! What ^ere these ? 

Seb. A Hving drollery : Now I will believe 
That there are unicorns ; that, in Arabia 
There is one tree, the phoenix' throne ; one phoenix 
At this hour reigning there. 

Ant. I'll believe both ; 

And what does else want credit, come to me. 
And I'll be sworn 'tis true ; Travellers ne'er did lie, 
Though fools at home condemn them. 

Gon. If in Naples 

I should report this now, would they believe me ? 
If I should say, I saw such islanders, 
(For, certes, these are people of the island,) 
Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note, 
Their manners are more gentle-kind, than of 
Our human generation you shall find 
Many, nay, almost any. 

Pro. \_Aside.'] Honest lord. 

Thou hast said well ; for some of you there present, ' 

Are worse than demons. 

Alon. I cannot too much muse, 

Such shapes, such gesture, and such sound, expressing 
(Although they want the use of tongue) a kind 
Of excellent dumb discourse. 

Pro. [Aside.'] Praise in departing. 



i 



THE TEMPEST. 189 

% 

Fran, They vanish'd strangely. * 

Seh. No matter, since 

They have left their viands behind ; for we have stomachs. — 
Wiil't please you taste of what is here ? 

Alon, Not I. 

Gon. Faith, sir, you need not fear : When we were boys, 
Who would believe that there were mountaineers, 
Dew-Iapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at them 
Wallets of flesh ? or that there were such men, 
Whose heads stood in their breasts ? which now we find. 
Each putter-out on five for one, will bring us 
Good warrant of. 

Alon. I will stand to, and feed. 

Although my last : no matter, since I feel, 
The best is past : — Brother, my lord the duke, 
Stand to, and do as we. 

Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel like a harpy ; claps his 
wings upon the table, and loith a quaint device, the banquet vanishes. 
Ari. You are three men of sin, whom destiny 

(That hath to instrument this lower world. 

And what is in't,) the never-surfeited sea 

Hath caused to belch up ; and on this island 

Where man doth not inhabit ; you 'mongst men 
j Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad ; 
I [Seeing Alon. See. cf-c. draw their swords. 

\ And even with such like valor, men hang and drown 
n Their proper selves. You fools ! I and my fellows 
E Are ministers of fate ; the elements, 
* Of whom your swords are temper 'd, may as well 
' Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs 
! Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish 
I One dowle that's in my plume ; my fellow ministers 
' Are like invulnerable : if you could hurt, 
I Your swords are now too massy for your strengths, 
i And will not be uplifted : But, remember, 
J (For that's my business to you,) that you three 
1 From Milan did supplant good Prospero ; 
i Expos'd unto the sea, which hath requit it, 
; Him, and his innocent child : for which foul deed 

The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have 

Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, 

Against your peace : Thee, of thy son, Alonzo, 

They have bereft ; and do pronounce by me, 

Ijing'ring perdition (worse than any death 

Can be at once) shall step by step attend 

You, and your ways ; whose wraths to guard you from 

(Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls 

Upon your heads,) is nothing, but heart's sorrow. 
i And a clear life ensuine^. 



190 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 



He vanishes in thunder : then, to soft music, enter the Shapes again, 
and dance with mops and mowes, and carry out the table. 

Pro. [Aside.] Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou 
Perform'd, my Ariel ; a grace it had, devouring : 
Of my instruction hast thou nothing 'bated, 
In what thou hadst to say : so, with good life. 
And observation strange, my meaner ministers 
Their several kinds have done : my high charms work, 
And these, mine enemies, are all knit up 
In their distractions : they now are in my power ; 
And in these fits I leave them, whilst I visit 
Young Ferdyiand, (whom they suppose is drown'd,) 
x^nd his and my loved darling. [Exit Prospero /ro?n above. 

Gon. V the name of something holy, sir, why stand you 
In this strange stare ? 

Alon. O, it is monstrous ! monstrous ! 

Methought, the billows spoke, and told me of it ; 
The winds did sing it to me ; and the thunder. 
That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd 
The name of Prosper ; it did bass my trespass. 
Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded ; and 
ril seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, 
And v/ith him there lie mudded. [Exit. 

Seb. But one fiend at a time, 

I'll fight their legions o'er. 

Ani. I'll be thy second. [Exeunt See. and Ant. < 

Gon. All three of them are desperate ; their great guilt, \ 

Like poison given to w^ork a great time after. 
Now 'gins to bite the spirits : — I do beseech you 
That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly, 

And hinder them from what this ecstasy , 

May now provoke them to. „ j, 

Adr. Follow^, I pray you. [Exeunt, n- 

h 

ACT IV. 

SCENE L— Before Prospero's Cell. 
Enter Prospero, Ferdinand, and Miranda. 

Pro. If I have too austerely punish'd you, 
Your compensation makes amends ; for I 
Have given you here a thread of mine own life. 
Or that for which I live ; whom once again 
I tender to thy hand : all thy vexations 
Were but my trials of thy love, and thou 
Hast strangely stood the test : here, afore Heaven, 



I' 

Iw 

Plo; 



»* 



THE TEMPEST. ^ 191 

I ratify this my rich gift. O, Ferdinand, 
Do not smile at me, that I boast her oiF, 
For thou shalt lind she will outstrip all praise, 
And make it halt behind her. 

Fer. I do believe it, 

Against an oracle. 

Pi'o. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition 
Worthily purchas'd. take my daughter : But not 
Till sanctimonious cerem.onies may 
With full and holy rite be minister'd : 
Then Hymen's lamps shall light you. 

Fer. As I hope 

For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, 
With such love as 'tis now ; the strong' st suggestion 
Our worser Genius can, shall never taint 
Mine honor. 

Pro. Fairly spoke : 

Sit then, and talk with her, she is thine own. — 
What, Ariel : my industrious sen-ant Ariel i 
Enter Ariel. 

Ari. What would my potent master ? here I am. 

Pro. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service 
Did vv'orthily perform ; and T must use you 
In such another trick : go, bring the rabble. 
O'er whom 1 give thee power, here, to this pxace : 
Incite them to quick motion ; for I must 
Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple 
Some vanity of mine art ; it is my promise, 
And they expect it from me. 

Ari. Presently ? 

Pro. Aye. with a twink. 

Ari. Before you can say, Come, and go^ 
And breathe twice ; and cry. so, so ; 
Each one, tripping on his toe. 
Will be here with mop and mowe : 
Do you love me, master ? no ? 

Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel : Do not approach, 
Till thou dost hear me call. 

Ari. Well I conceive. [Exit, 

Pro. Look, thou be true. 

Fer. I warrant you, sir. 

Pro. Well.— 
Now come, my Ariel : bring a corollary, 
(Rather than want a spirit : appear, and pertly. — 
No tongue ; all eyes : be silent. \^Soft music 

A Masque. Enter Iris. 

Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas 
|0f wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease ; 



192 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, 

And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep ; 

Thy banks with peonied and lilied brims, 

With spongy April at thy hest* betrims. 

To make cold nymphs chaste crowns ; and thy broom groves, 

Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, 

Being lass-lorn ; thy pole-clipt vineyard ; 

And thy sea-marge, steril, and rocky-hard. 

Where thou thyself dost air : The queen o' the sky, 

Whose watery arch, and messenger, am I, 

Bids thee leave these ; and with her sovereign grace, 

Here on this grass-plot, in this very place. 

To come and sport : her peacocks fly amain ; 

Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. 

Enter Ceres. 

Cer. Hail many-color'd messenger, that ne'er 
Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter. 
Who, with thy saflfron wing, upon my flowers 
Diflusest honey-drops, refreshing showers ; 
And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown 
My bosky acres, and my unshrubb'd down, 
Rich scarf to my proud earth ; Why hath thy queen 
Summon'd me hither, to this short-grass'd green ? 

Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate ; 
And some donation freely to estate 
On the bless'd lovers. 

Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow. 

If Venus, or her son, as thou dost know, 
Do now attend the queen ? since they did plot 
The means, that dusky Dis my daughter got, 
Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company^ 
1 have forsworn. I 

Iris. Of her society [ 

Be not afraid ; I met her deity J 

Cutting the clouds towards Paphos ; and her son 
Dove-drawn with her. 

Cer. Highest queen of state, 

Great Juno comes : I know her by her gait. 

Enter Juno. 
Jun. How does my bounteous sister ? Go with me, 
To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be 
And honor'd in their issue. 

SONG. I k 

Jun. Honor, riches, marriage-blessing, I i 

hong continuance, and increasing, 

* Commanl. 



THE TEMPEST. 198 

Hourly joys he still upon you ! 
Juno' sings her blessings on you. 
Cer. Earth'' s increase, and foison"^ plenty. 
Barns and garners never empty ; 
Vines, with clusfring bunches growing ! 
Plants, with goodly burden bowing ; 
Spring come to you, at the farthest. 
In the very end of harvest ! 
Scarcity and want shall shun you ; 
Ceres'' blessing so is on you. 

Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and 
Harmonious charmingly : May I be bold 
To think these spirits ? 

Pro. Spirits, which by mine art 

I have from their confines called to enact 
My present fancies. 

Fer. Let me live here ever ; 

So rare a wonder'd father, and a wife, 
Make this place Paradise. 

[Juno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on employment. 

Pro. Sweet now, silence ; 

Juno and Ceres whisper seriously ; 
There's something else to do : hush, and be mute, 
Or else our spell is marr'd. 

Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wand'ring brooks, 
With your sedg'd crowns, and ever harmless looks. 
Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land 
Answer your summons : Juno does command ; 
Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate 
A contract of true love ; be not too late. 

Enter certain Nymphs. 
You sun-burn'd sicklemen, of August weary, 
Come hither from the furrow, and be merry ; 
Make holiday : your rye-straw hats put on. 
And these fresh nymphs encounter every one 
In country footing. 

Enter certain Reapers, properly habited ; they join with the Nymphs 
in a graceful dance ; towards the end whereof Prosper© starts 
suddenly, and speaks ; after which, to a strange, hollow, and con- 
fused noise, they heavily vanish. 

Pro. [Aside.] I had forgot that foul conspiracy 
Of the beast Caliban, and his confederates, 
Against my life ; the minute of their plot 
Is almost come. — [To the Spirits.] Well done ; — avoid ; — no more. 

Fer. This is most strange : your father's in some passion 
That works him strongly. 

* Abundance, 

10 



194 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Mir a. Never till this day, 

Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. 

Pro. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort 
As if you were dismayed : be cheerful, sir : 
Our revels now are ended : these our actors, 
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
Are melted into air, into thin air : 
xVnd, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve ; 
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded. 
Leave not a rack behind : We are such stuff 
As dreams are made of, and our little life 
Is rounded with a sleep. — Sir, I am vex'd ; 
Bear with my weakness ; my old brain is troubled. 
Be not disturb'd with my infirmity : 
If you be pleas'd, retire into my cell. 
And there repose ; a turn or two I'll walk, 
To still my beating mind. 

Fer. Mira. We wish your peace. [Exeunt. 

Prospero defeats the Plot laid by Caliban, and punishes the Conspirators through the 
agency of his attendant spirits. 

ACT V. 

SCENE I.^Before the CeZZ o/ Prospero. 
Enter Prospero in his magic robes ; and Ariel. 

Pro. Now does my project gather to a head : 
My charms crack not ; my spirits obey ; and time 
Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day ? 

Ari. On the sixth hour ; at which time, my lord, 
You said our work should cease. 

Pro. I did say so. 

When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit. 
How fares the king and his ? 

ArL Confin'd together 

In the same fashion as you gave in charge ; 
Just as you left them, sir ; all prisoners 
In the lime-grove which weather-fends your cell ; I 7 

They cannot budge, till your release. The king, 
His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted ; 
And the remainder mourning over them, I ^^ 

Brim-full of sorrow and dismay ; but chiefly 
Him you term'd, sir. The good old- lord, Gonzalo ; 
His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops 
From eaves of reeds : your charm so strongly works them, 
That if you now beheld them, your affections 
Would become tender. 



THE TEMPEST. 195 

Pro. Dost thou think so, spirit ? 

Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human. 

Pro. And mine shall. 

Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling 
Of their afflictions ? and shall not myself, 

One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, / 

Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art ? 
Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick, 
Yet, with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury 
Do I take part : the rarer action is 
In virtue than in vengeance : they being penitent. 
The sole drift of my purpose doth extend 
Not a frown further : Go, release them, Ariel ; 
My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore, 
And they shall be themselves. 

Ari. I'll fetch them, sir. [Exit. 

Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves ; 
And ye, that on the sands with printless foot 
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him, 
When he comes back ; you demi-puppets, that 
By moonshine do the green-sour ringlets make, 
Whereof the ewe not bites ; and you, whose pastime 
Is to make midnight-mushrooms ; that rejoice 
To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid 
(Weak masters though ye be), I have bedimm'd 
The noontide sun, cedl'd forth the mutinous winds. 
And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault 
Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder 
Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak 
With his own bolt : the strong-bas'd promontory 
Have I made shake ; and by the spurs pluck'd up 
The pine and cedar : graves, at my command. 
Have waked their sleepers ; oped, and let them forth 
By my so potent art : But this rough magic 
I here abjure : and, when I have requir'd 
Some heavenly music, (which even now I do,) 
To work mine end upon their senses, that 
This airy charm is for, I'll break my staflT, 
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth. 
And, deeper than did ever plummet sound, 
I'll drown my book. [Solemn music. 

Re-enter Ariel : after him, Alonzo, with a frantic gesture, attended 
by GoNZALO ; Sebastian and Antonio in like manner, attended 
by Adrian and Francisco : they all enter the circle which Pros- 
PERO had made, and there stand charmed ; which Prospero ob- 
serving, speaks. 

A solemn air, and the best comforter 

To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, 



196 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Now useless, boil'd within thy skull ! There stand, 

For you are spell stopp'd. 

Holy Gonzalo, honorable man, 

Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine, 

Fall fellowly drops. — The charm dissolves apace ; 

And as the morning steals upon the night, 

Melting the darkness, so their rising senses 

Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 

Their clearer reason. — O my good Gonzalo, 

My true preserver, and a loyal sir 

To him thou follow'st ; I will pay thy graces 

Home, both in word and deed. — Most cruelly 

Didst thou, Alonzo, use me and my daughter : 

Thy brother was a furtherer in the act ;— 

Thou'rt pinch'd for't now, Sebastian. — Flesh and blood, 

You brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, 

Expell'd remorse and nature ; who, with Sebastian 

(Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,) 

Would have kill'd your king ; I do forgive thee, 

Unnatural though thou art ! — Their understanding 

Begins to swell ; and the approaching tide 

Will shortly fill the reasonable shores, 

That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them. 

That yet looks on me, or would know me : — Ariel, 

Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell ; [Exit Ariel. 

[ will dis-case me, and myself present. 

As I was sometime Milan : — quickly, spirit ; 

Thou shalt ere long be free. 

Ariel re-enters, singing, and helps to attire Prospero. 

Ari. Where the hee sucks, there suck I: 
In a cowslips bell Hie; 
There I couch when owls do cry. 
On the bafs back I do fly, 
After summer, merrily : 
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now. 
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. ' T 

Pro. Why, that's my dainty Ariel : I shall miss thee ; 
But yet thou shait have freedom : so, so, so. — 

To the king's ship, invisible as thou art : j ^^ 

There shalt thou find the mariners asleep ! ^| 

Under the hatches ; the master, and the boatswain, j ^ 

Being awake, enforce them to this place ; | ; ^J 

And presently, I pr'ythee. i i 

Ari. I drink the air before me, and return ^ i 

Or e'er your pulse twice beat. [Exit Ariel, j k 

Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement j *, i* 

Inhabits here : Some heavenly power guide us . | h 

Out of this fearful countrv ! I h{ 



ii*^. 



THE TEMPEST. 197 

Pro. Behold, sir king, 

The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero : 
For more assurance that a living prince 
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body ; 
And to thee, and thy company, I bid 
A hearty welcome. 

Alon. Whe'r thou beest he, or no, 

Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, 
As late I have been, I not know : thy pulse 
Beats, as of flesh and blood ; and, since I saw thee, 
The afliiction of my mind amends, with which, 
I fear, a madness held me : this must crave 
(And if this be at all) a most strange story. 
Thy dukedom I resign ; and I do entreat 
Thou pardon me my wrongs : — But how should Prospero 
Be Hving, and be here ? 

Pro. First, noble friend, 

Let me embrace thine age ; w^hose honor cannot 
Be measur'd, or confin'd. 

Gon. Whether this be, 

Or be not, I'll not swear. 

Pro. You do yet taste 

Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let you 
Believe things certain : — Welcome, my friends all : — 
But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, 

\^Aside to See., and Ant. 
I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you, 
And justify you traitors ; at this time 
I'll tell no tales. 

Seh. The devil speaks in him. [^Aside, 

Pro. No : 

For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother 
Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive 
Thy rankest fault ; all of them ; and require 
My dukedom of thee, which, perforce, I know, 
Thou must restore. 

Alon. If thou beest Prospero, 

Give us particulars of thy preserv^ation : 
How thou hast met us here, who three hours since 
Were wreck'd upon this shore ; where I have lost, 
How sharp the point of this remembrance is ! 
My dear son Ferdinand. 

Pro. I am woe for't, sir. 

Alon. Irreparable is the loss ; and patience 
Says it is past her cure. 

Pro. I rather think. 

You have not sought her help ; of whose soft grace 
For the like loss, I have her sovereign aid, 
And rest myself content. 



198 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Alon. You the like loss ? 

Pro. As great to me, as late ; and, supportable 
To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker 
Than you may call to comfort you ; for I 
Have lost my daughter. 

Alon. A daughter ? 

heavens ! that they were living both in Naples, 
The king and queen there ! that they were, I wish 
Myself were mudded in that oozy bed 
Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter ? 

Pro. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords 
At this encounter do so much admire. 
That they devour their reason ; and scarce think 
Their eyes do offices of truth, their words 
Are natural breath : but, howsoe'er you have 
Been jostled from your senses, know for certain. 
That I am Prospero, and that very duke 
Which ^'; i> thrust forth of Milan ; who most strangely, 
Upon th .-hore, where you were wreck'd, was landed. 
To be the lord on't. No more yet of this ; 
For 'tis a chronicle of day by day. 
Not a relation for a breakfast, nor 
Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir ; 
This cell's my court : here have I few attendants, 
And subjects none abroad : pray you, look in. 
My dukedom since you have given me again, 

1 will requite you with as good a thing ; 
At least bring forth a wonder, to content ye. 
As much as me my dukedom. 

The entrance of the Cell opens, a fid discovers Ferdinand and Miranda, ' j 
playing at chess. '• 

Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false. Ill 

Fer. No, my dearest love, ^ 

I would not for the world. } 

Mira. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle. 
And I would call it fair play. j 

Alon. If this prove i»l 

A vision of this island, one dear son ,( 

Shall I twice lose. i ' 

Seb. A most high miracle ! J 

Fer. Though the seas threaten, they are merciful : ' 

I have curs'd them without cause. [Ferd. kneels to Alon. \ j 

Alon. Now all the blessings ' • 

Of a glad father compass thee about ! 
Arise, and say how thou cam'st here. 

Mira. O ! wonder ! 

How many goodly creatures are there here ! 
How beauteous mankind is ! O brave new world. 
That has such people hi't ! 



THE TEMPEST. 199 

Pro. 'Tis new to thee. 

Alon. What is this maid, with whom thou wast at play ? 
Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours : 
Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us. 
And brought us thus together ? 

Fer. Sir, she's mortal ; 

But, by immortal providence, she's mine ; 
I chose her, w^hen I could not ask my father 
For his advice ; nor thought I had one : she 
Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan, 
Of whom so often I have heard renown. 
But never saw before ; of whom I have 
Received a second life, and second father 
This lady makes him to me. 

Alon. I am hers : 

But O, how oddly will it sound, that I 
Must ask my child forgiveness ! 

Pro. There, sir, stop ; 

Let us not burden our remembrances 
With a heaviness that's gone. 

Gon. I have inly wept, 

Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods, 
And on this couple drop a blessed crown ; 
For it is you, that have chalk'd forth the way 
Which brought us hither ! 

Alon. I say. Amen, Gonzalo ! 

Give me your hands : [ To Fer. and Mir. 

Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart, 
That doth not wish you joy ! 

Gon. Be't so ! Amen ! 

E '-3nter Ariel, with ike Master and Boatswain amazedly following, 

look, sir, look, sir ; here are more of us ! 

1 prophesied, if a gallows were on land. 

This fellow could not drown : Now, blasphemy. 
Hast thou no mouth by land ? What is the news ? 

Boats. The best news is, that we have safely found 
Our king, and company ; the next our ship, — 
Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split, — 
Is tight, and yare, and bravely rigg'd, as when 
We first put out to sea. 

Ari. Sir, all this service ^ 

Have I done since I went. ^ I Aside, 

Pro. My tricksy spirit ! ) 

Alon. These are not natural events ; they strengthen. 
From strange to stranger : — Say, how came you hither ? 

Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, '• 
I'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, 
And (how, we know not) all rJ.-ipp'd under hatches. 



200 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Where, but even now, with strange and several noises 

Of roaring, shrieking, howling, ginghng chains, 

And more diversity of sounds all horrible, 

We were awak'd ; straightway, at liberty : 

Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld 

Our royal, good, and gallant ship ; our master 

Capering to eye her : On a trice, so please you, 

Even in a dream, we were divided from them, 

And were brought moping hither. 

Ari. Was't well done ? > [Aside 

Pro. Bravely, my diligence. Thou shalt be free. ^ 
Alon. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod : 

And there is in this business more than nature 

Was ever conduct of : some oracle 

Must rectify our knowledge. 

Pro. Sir, my \iege, 

Do not infest your mind with beating on 

The strangeness of this business : at pick'd leisure, 

Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you 

(Which to you shall seem probable), of every 

These happen'd accidents ; till when, be cheerful. 

And think of each thing well. — Come hither, spirit ; [Aside, 

Set Caliban and his companions free : 

Untie the spell. [Exit Ariel. 

Sir, I invite your highness, and your train, 

To my poor cell : where you shall take your rest 

For this one night ; which (part of it) I'll waste 

With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make it 

Go quick away : the story of my life. 

And the particular accidents, gone by. 

Since I came to this isle : And in the morn 

I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, 

Where I have hope to see the nuptial 

Of these our dear-beloved solemniz'd ; 

And thence retire me to my Milan, where 

Every third thought shall be my grave. 

Alon. I long 

To hear the story of your life, which must 

Take the ear strangely. 

Pro. I'll deliver all ; 

And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, 

And sail so expeditious, that shall catch 

Your royal fleet far off. — My Ariel ; — chick, — 

That is thy charge ; then to the elements 

Be free, and fare thou wrll ! — 

^Exeunt. 



EOMEO AND JULIET. 



The story of Romeo and Juliet is considered to be historically true ; the Veronese fii 
the date of this tragedy as 1303. 

"The history of the fair Capulet and her loved Montague," furnished themes for 
novelists, and had inspired the muse of the Poets, previous to Shakspeare's time: H« 
has availed himself of these labors to construct his exqubite Drama ; the inimitable cha- 
racter of Mercutio, however, is an entirely original creation of the Dramatist. 



I 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Esc ALUS, Prince of Verona. 

Paris, a young nobleman, kinsman to the Prince. 

^ ^ * > heads of two houses, at variance with each other. 

OAPT7I.ET, ) *' 

An old man, uncle to Capulet. 

Romeo, son to Montague. 

Mercutio, kinsman to the Prince, and friend to Romeo. 

Benvolio, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo. 

Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet. 

Friar Laurence, a Franciscan. 

Friar John, of the same order. 

Balthazar, servant to Romeo. 

Sampson, Gregory, servants to Capulet^ 

Abram, servant to Montague. 

An Apothecary. Three Musicians. 

Chorus. Boy. Page to Paris. iT 

Peter. An Officer. 

Lady Montague, wife to Montague. 
Lady Capulet, wife to Capulet. 
Juliet, daughter to Capulet. 
Nurse to Juliet. 

Citizens of Verona ; several Men and Women, relations to both houses ; 
Maskers, Guards, Watchmen, and Attendants. 

SCENE, — during the greater part of the Play, in Verona ; once, in the 
Fifth Act, at Mantua. 
10* 



202 SIIAKSPEARIAN READER. 

The rival Houses of Capulet and Montague were two of the most distinguished Fami- 
lies in Verona: An " ancient grudge" existed between these Houses, and *' civil brawls" 
were constantly occurring between them, in which the connections and retainers of the 
opposing heads took part. The Play opens with one of these outbreaks : In the midst 
of the fray, the Prince of Verona appears, separates the combatants, and declares to Ca- 
pulet and Montague — 

** If ever you disturb our streets again, 
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace." 

Montague and his kinsman Benvolio discourse on the late fray. Romeo joins them, 

ACT I. 

SCENE I. 

Enter Montague, lady Montague, and Benvolio. 

Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel now abroach ? — 
Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began ? 

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary, 
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach : 
I drew to part them ; in the instant came 
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd ; 
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, 
He swung about his head, and cut the winds : 
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, 
Came more and more, and fought on part and part, 
Till the prince came, who parted either part. 

La. Mon. O, where is Romeo ! — saw you him to-day ? 
Right glad I am, he was not at this fray. 

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun 
Peer'd forth the golden vidndow of the east, 
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad ; 
Where, — underneath the grove of sycamore, 
That westward rooteth from the city's side, — 
So early walking did I see your son : 
Towards him I made ; but he was 'ware of me. 
And stole into the covert of the wood : 
I, measuring his affections by my own, — 
That mgst are busied when they are most alone, — 
Pursu'd ffiy humor, not pursuing his. 
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. 

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen. 
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, 
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs : 
But all so soon as the ail-cheering sun 
Should in the further east begin to draw 
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed. 
Away from light steals home my heavy son. 
And private in his chamber pens himself; I ^ 

Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out, I ^ 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 203 

And makes himself an artificial night : 
Black and portentous must this humor prove, 
Unless good counsel may the cause remove. 

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause ? 

Mon. T neither know it, nor can learn of him. 

Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means ? 

Mon. Both by myself, and many other friends ; 
But he, his own affections' counsellor. 
Is to himself — I will not say, how true — 
But to himself so secret and so close, 
So far from sounding and discovery, 
As is the bud bit with an envious worm. 
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air. 
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. 
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, 
We would as willingly give cure, as know. 

Enter Romeo, at a distance. 

Ben. See, where he comes : So please you, step aside ; 
I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. 

Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay, 
To hear true shrift. — Come, madam, let's away. 

{Exeunt Montague, and Lady. 

Ben. Good morrow, cousin. 

Rom. Is the day so young ? 

Ben. But new struck nine. 

Rom. Ah me ! sad hours seem long. 

Was that my father that went hence so fast ? 

Ben. It was : — What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours ? 

Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them short. 

Ben. In love ; meseems ! 
Alas, that love, so gentle in his view. 
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof ! 

Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still. 
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will ! 
Where shall we dine ? — O me ! — What fray was here ? 
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. 
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love : — 
O heavy lightness ! serious vanity ! 
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms ! 
This love feel I, that feel no love in this. 
Dost thou not laugh ? 

Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. 

Rom. Good heart, at what ? 

Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. 

Rom. Why, such is love's transgression. — 
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast ; 
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest 
With more of thine : this love, that thou hast shown. 
Doth add more sfrief to too much of mine own. 



204 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

liOve is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs ; 

Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes ; 

Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears : 

What is it else ? a madness most discreet, 

A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. 

Farewell, my coz= [Going. 

Ben. Soft, I will go along ; 

An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. 

Rom. Tut, I have lost myself ; I am not here ; 
This is not Romeo, he's some other where. 

Ben. Tell me in sadness, who she is you love. 

Rom. In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. 

Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd. 

Rom. A right good marksman ! — And she's fair I love. 

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. 

Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss : she'll not be hit 
With Cupid's arrow. She hath Dian's wit ; 
And, in strong iprqpf of chastity well arm'd. 
From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. 
She will not stay the siege of loving terms, 
Nor bide the encounter of assaihng eyes, 
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold : 
O ! she is rich in beauty ; only poor, 
That when she dies, with beauty dies her store. 
She is too fair, too wise ; wisely too fair, 
To merit bliss by making me despair : 
She hath forsworn to love ; and, in that vow, 
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now. 

Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. 

Rom. O teach me how I should forget to think. 

Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes ; 
Examine other beauties. 

Rom. 'Tis the way 

To call hers, exquisite, in question more : 
These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows, 
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair ; 
He, that is stricken blind, cannot forget 
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost : 
Show me a mistress that is passing fair, 
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note 
Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair ? 
Farewell ; thou canst not teach me to forget. 

Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. [Exeunt. 

The ** County Paris " loves the lady Juliet, and receives her father's permission to pre 
fer his suit. — Capulet gives an entertainment, to which he invites young Paris : At thia 
feast the fair Rosaline is also to be a guest, and Romeo is persuaded by his cousin 
Benvolio, to attend, that he may — '■ 

" Compare her face with some that I shall show, * 

And I will make thee think thy swan a crow." 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 205 

SCENE III.— A Room in Capulet's House, 

Enter Lady Capulet, and Nurse. 

La. Cajp, Nurse, where's my daughter ? call her forth to me. 

Nurse. Now, by my faith, — at twelve year old, 
I bade her come. — What, lamb ! what, lady-bird ! 
Heaven forbid ! where's this girl ? — what, Juliet ! 

Enter Juliet. 

Jul. How ROW, who calls ? 

Nurse. Your mother. 

Jul. Madam, I am here. 

What is your will ? 

La. Cap. This is the matter : — Nurse, give leave awhile, 
We must talk in secret. — Nurse, come back again ; 
I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel. 
Thou know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age. 

Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. 

La. Cap. She's not fourteen. 

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, 

And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four, — 
She is not fourteen. — How Ipng is it now 
To Lammas-tide ? 

La. Cap. A fortnight, and odd days. 

Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year. 
Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be eighteen. 
Heaven mark thee to its grace ! 
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd. 
An I might live to see thee married once, 
I have my wish. 

La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme * 

I came to talk of : — Tell me, daughter Juliet, 
How stands your disposition to be married ? 

Jul. It is an honor that I dream not of. 

La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now. 
Thus then, in brief ; — 
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. 

Nurse. A man, young lady ! lady, such a man, 
As all the world — Why, he's a man of wax. 

La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. 

Nurse. Nay, he's a flower ; in faith, a very flower. 

La. Cap. What say you ? can you love the gentleman ? 
This night you shall behold him at our feast : 
Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love ? 

Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move : 
But no more deep will I endart mine eye, 
Than your consent gives strength to m.ake it fly. 



206 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Eniei' a Servant. 

Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, 
my young lady asked for, the nurse wanted in the pantry, and every- 
thing in extremity. I must hence to wait ; I beseech you, follow 
straight. 

La. Cap. We follow thee.— Juliet, the county stays. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— A Street. 

Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with Five or Six Maskers, 
Torch-bearers, and others. 

Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse ? 
Or shall we on without apology ? 

Ben. The date is out of such prolixity : 
We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf, 
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath. 
Scaring the ladies like a crow -keeper ; 
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke 
After the prompter, for our entrance : 
But let them measure us by what they will. 
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. 

Rom. Give me a torch, — I am not for this ambling ; 
Being but heavy, I will bear the light. 

Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. 

Rom. Not I, believe me : you have dancing shoes, 
With nimble soles : I have a soul of lead. 
So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move. 

Mer. You are a lover ; borrow Cupid's wings. 
And soar with them above a common bound. 

Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft, 
To soar with his light feathers ; and so bound, 
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe : 
Under love's heavy burden do I sink. 

Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love ; 
Too great oppression for a tender thing. 

Rom. Is love a tender thing ? it is too rough. 
Too rude, too boist'rous. 

Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love ; 
Give me a case to put my visage in : [Puttirig on a mask. 

A visor for a visor ! — what care I, 
What curious eye doth quote deformities ? 
Here are the beetle-brows, shall blush for me. 

Ben. Come, knock, and enter ; and no sooner in, j 

But every man betake him to his legs. £ 

Rom. A torch for me : let wantons, Hght of heart, ^ 

Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels ; . ji 

For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase, — 
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. 
But 'tis no wit to go. 



A 



EOMEO AND JULIET. 207 

Mer, Why, may one ask ? 

Rom. I dreamt a dream tonight. 

Mer, O, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with you. 
She is the fairies' midwife ; and she comes 
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 
On the fore-finger of an alderman, 
Drawn with a team of Uttle atomies 
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep : 
Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs, 
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; 
The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; 
The collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams : 
Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film ; 
Her wagoner, a small gray-coated gnat, 
Not half so big as a round little worm 
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid : 
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, 
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub. 
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. 
And in this state she gallops night by night 
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love ; 
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight : 
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees ; 
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream ; 
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose. 
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit : 
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, 
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep. 
Then dreams he of another benefice : 
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck. 
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, 
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, 
Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon 
Drums in his ear ; at which he starts, and wakes ; 
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two, 
And sleeps again. 

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace ; 

Thou talk'st of nothing. 

Mer. True, I talk of dreams ; 

Which are the children of an idle brain, 
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy ; 
Which is as thin of substance as the air ; 
And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes 
Even now the frozen bosom of the north. 
And, being anger 'd, puflfs away from thence, 
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. 

Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves ; 
Supper is done, and we shall come too late. 

Ro?n. I fear, too ear^y : for my mind misgives, 



208 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, 

Shall bitterly begin his fearful date 

With this night's revels ; and expire the term 

Of a despised Ufe, clos'd in my breast, 

By some vile forfeit of untimely death : 

But He, that hath the steerage of my course, 

Direct my sail ! — On, gentlemen. [ExeunU 

SCENE v.— A Hall in Capulet's House. 
Enter Capulet, d^^c. with the Guests, and the Maskers. 

Cap. You are welcome, gentlemen ! I have seen the day, 
That I have worn a visor ; and could tell 
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear. 
Such as woiSd please ; — 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone : 
You are welcome, gentlemen ! — Come, musicians, play. 

[Music plays, and they dance, 

Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand 
Of yonder knight ? 

Serv. I know not, sir. 

Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to bum bright ! 
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night 
like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear : 
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand. 
And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand. 
Did my heart love till now ? forswear it, sight ! 
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. 

Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague : 
Fetch me my rapier, boy : — What ! dares the slave 
Come hither, covered with an antic face, 
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity ? 
Now, by the stock and honor of my kin. 
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. 

Cap. Why, how now, kinsman ? wherefore storm you so ? 

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe ; 
A villain, that is hither come in spite, 
To scorn at our solemnity this night. 

Cap. Young Romeo is't ? 

Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. 

Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, 
He bears him like a portly gentleman ; 
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him, 
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth : 
I would not for the wealth of all this town, % 

Here in my house do him disparagement : 
Therefore be patient, take no note of him, % 

It is my will ; the which if thou respect. 
Show a fair presence, and put off these frowns, j 

An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. Of, 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 209 

Tyh. It fits, when such a villam is a guest ; 
ril not endure him. 

Cap. He shall be endur'd ; 

Am I the master here, or you ? go to. 
Be quiet, cousin, or — I'll make you quiet. 

Tyh. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting 
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. 
I will withdraw : but this intrusion shall, 
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. \_Exit, 

R(ym. If I profane with my unworthy hand ^^To Juliet. 

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this, — 

Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, 
For palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss, 

Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too ? 

Jul. Ay, pilgrim, Hps that they must use in prayer. 

Rom. Thus, then, dear saint, let Hps put up their prayer. \_Sa- 

Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you. \lutes her, 

Rom. What is her mother ? 

Nurse. Marry, bachelor, 

Her mother is the lady of the house. 
And a good lady, and a wise, and \irtuous : 
I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal ; 
I tell you, — he, that can lay hold of her, 
Shall have the chinks. 

Rom. Is she a Capulet ? 

dear account ! my life is my foe's debt. 
Ben. Away, begone ; the sport is at the best. 
Rom. Ay, so I fear ; the more is my unrest. 
Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone ; 

We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. 
Is it e'en so ? Why, then I thank you all ; 

1 thank you, honest gentlemen ; good night: — 

I'll to my rest. [Exeunt all hut Juliet, and Nurse. 

Jul. Come hither, nurse ; What is yon gentleman ? 

Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. 

Jul. What's he. that now is going out of door ? 

Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio. 

Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would not dance ? 

Nurse. I know not. 

Jul. Go, ask his name : — if he be married. 
My grave is like to be m.y w^edding bed. 

Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague ; 
The only son of your great enemy. 

Jul. My only love sprung from my only hate ! 
Too early seen unknown, and known too late ! 

Nurse. What's this ? ' What's this ? 

Juh A rhyme I leam'd even now 

Of one I danc'd withal. [One calls within, Jxh^iet. 

Nurse. Anon, anon : 

Come, let's away : the strangers all are gone. \ Exeunt 



210 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 



ACT II. 

Romeo, struck with the beauty and character of JuUet, forgets his " Rosaline." He 
disengages himself from Mercutio and Benvolio, and enters Capulet's garden, to seek 
an interview with Juliet. 

SCENE n.— Capulet's Garden. 
Enter Romeo. 

Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. — 

[Juliet appears above, at a window. 
But, soft ! what light through yonder window breaks ! 
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! — 
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon. 
Who is already sick and pale with grief. 
That thou her maid art far more fair than she : 
She speaks, yet slie says nothing ; What of that ? 
Her eye discourses, I v^ill answer it. — 
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks : 
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, 
Having some business, do entreat her eyes 
To twinkle in their spheres till they return. 
What if her eyes were there, they in her head ? 
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, 
As daylight doth a lamp ; her eye in heaven 
Would tfirough the airy region stream so bright, 
That birds would sing, and think it were not night. 
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! 
O, that I were a glove upon that hand, 
That I might touch that cheek ! 

Jul. Ah me ! 

Rom. She speaks : 

O, speak again, bright angel ! for thou art 
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head. 
As is a winged messenger of heaven 
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes 
Of mortals, that faU back to gaze on him. 
When he bestrides the lazy pacing clouds, J 

And sails upon the bosom of the air. J 

Jul. O Romeo, Romeo ! wherefore art thou Romeo ? 
Deny tliy father, and refuse thy name : 
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love. 
And I'll no longer be a Capulet. 

Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this ? [Aside. 

Jul. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy ; 
What's in a name ? that which we call a rose, ^ 

By any other name would smell as sweet ; '^ 

So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, ^^l 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 211 

Retain that dear perfection which he owes, 
Without that title : — Romeo, doff thy name ; 
And for that name, which is no part of thee, 
Take all myself. 

Rom, I take thee at thy word : 

Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized ; 
Henceforth I never will be Romeo. 

Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in night, 
So stumblest on my counsel ? 

Rom. By a name 

I know not how to tell thee who I am : 
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, 
Because it is an enemy to thee. 

Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words 
Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound ; 
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague ? 

Rom, Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. 

Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me ? and wherefore ? 
The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb ; 
x\nd the place death, considering who thou art, 
If any of my kinsmen find thee here. 

Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls. 
For stony limits cannot hold love out ; 
And what love can do, that dares love attempt ; 
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. 

Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. 

Rom. Alack ! there lies more peril in thine eye, 
Than tv/enty of their swords ; look thou but sweet, 
And I am proof against their enmity. 

Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee here : 
By whose direction found'st thou out this place ? 

Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to inquire ; 
He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. 
I am no pilot ; yet, wert thou as far 
As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea, 
I would adventure for such merchandise. 

Jul. Thou know'st, the mask of night is on my face ; 
Else would a maiden iDlush bepaint my cheek, 
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. 
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny 
Wliat I have spoke ; But farewell compliment ! 
Dost thou love me ? I know, thou wilt say — Ay : 
And I will take thy word : yet, if thou swear'st, 
Thou may'st prove false ; at lovers' perjuries. 
They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo, 
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully : 
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, 
I'll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay. 
So thou wilt w^oo ; but, else, not for the world. 



212 SHAKSPEARIAN HEADER. 

/ 
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond ; 
And therefore thou may'st think my 'havior Hght : 
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true 
Than those that have more cunning to be strange. 
I should have been more strange, I must confess, 
But that thou over-heard'st, ere I was 'ware, 
My true love's passion : therefore pardon me ; 
And not impute this pelding to hght love, 
Which the dark night hath so discovered. 

Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, 
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops, — 

Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, 
That monthly changes in her circled orb, 
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. 

Rom. What shall I swear by ? 

Jul. Do not swear at all ; 

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self. 
Which is the god of my idolatry, 
And I'll believe thee. 

Rom. If my heart's dear love — 

Jul. Well, do not swear : although I joy in thee, 
I have no joy in this contract to-night : 
It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden ; 
Too Hke the lightning, which doth cease to be, 
Ere one can say — It lightens. Sweet, good night ! 
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath. 
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. 
Good night, good night i as sweet repose and rest 
Come to thy heart, as that within my breast ! 

Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ? 

Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night ? 

Rom. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine. 

Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it : 
And yet I would it were to give again. 

Rom. Wouldst thou withdraw it ? for what purpose, love ? 

Jul. But to be frank and give it thee again. 
And yet I wish but for the thing I have : 
My bounty is as boundless as the sea, 
My love as deep ; the more I give to thee, 

The more I have, for both are infinite. [Nurse calls within, 

I hear some noise within ; Dear love, adieu ! 
Anon, good nurse ? — Sweet Montague, be true. 
Stay, but a little, I will come again. [Exit \ 

Rom. O blessed, blessed night ! I am afeard, . ^ 

Being in night, all this is but a dream, ^ 

Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. ^ 

Re-enter Juliet, above. 

Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, indeed, 
If that thv bent of love be honorable, 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 213 

Thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow, 

By one that I'll procure to come to thee. 

Where, and what time thou wilt perform the rite ; 

And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay, 

And follow thee my lord throughout the world. 

Nurse. \_Wiihin.^ Madam. 

Jul. I come, anon : — But if thou mean'st not well, — 
I do beseech thee, — 

Nurse. [Within.] Madam. 

Jul. By and by, I come : — 

To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief; 
To-morrow will I send. 

Rom. So thrive my soul, — 

Jul. A thousand times good night ! [Exit. 

Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light, — 
Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books ; 
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. 

[Retiring slowly. 

Re-enter Juliet, above. 

Jul. Hist ! Romeo, hist ! — O, for a falconer's voice, 
To lure this tassel-gentle back again ! 
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud ; 
Else would I tear the cave where echo lies. 
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine 
With repetition of my Romeo's name. 

Rom. It is my soul that calls upon my name : 
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, 
Like softest music to attending ears ! 

Jul. Romeo ! 

Rom. My sweet ! 

Jul. At what o'clock tomorrow 

Shall I send to thee ? 

Rrnn^ At the hour of nine. 

Jul. I will not fail ; 'tis twenty years till then. 
I have forgot why I did call thee back. 

Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it. 

Jul. I shall forget to have thee still stand there, 
Rememb'ring how I love thy company. 

Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, 
Forgetting any other home but this. 

Jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone : 
And yet no further than a wanton's bird ; 
Who lets it hop a little from her hand. 
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gy\'es, 
And with a silk thread plucks it back again 
So loving-jealous of his Uberty. 

Rom, I would, I were thy bird. 

Jul. Sweet, so would I : 



214 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. 

Good night, good night ! parting is such sweet sorrow, 

That I shall say — good night, till it be morrow. [Exit, 

Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast ! — 
'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest ! 
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell ; 
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [Exit. 

SCENE m.— Friar Laurence's Cell 

Enter Friar Laurence, with a basket. 

Fri. The gray-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, 
Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light ; 
Now ere the sun advance his burning eye. 
The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, 
I must up-fill this osier cage of ours, 
With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers. 
O, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies 
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities : 
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live, 
But to the earth some special good doth give ; 
Nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair use. 
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse : 
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied ; 
And vice sometime's by action dignified. 
Within the infant rind of this small flower 
Poison hath residence, and med'cine power : jj 

For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part ; t| 

Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. ' 

Two such opposed foes encamp them still 
In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude will : 
And, where the worser is predominant. 
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. 

Enter Romeo. 

Rom. Good morrow, father ! 

Fri. Benedicite ! 

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me ?— 
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head. 
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed : 
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye. 
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie ; 
But where unbruised youth with unstufl*'d brain 
Doth couch his lim' js, there golden sleep doth reign : 
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure. 
Thou art up-rous'd by some distemp'rature. 
Or, if not so, then here I hit it right — 
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. 

Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine. 



i 



ROMEO AND JULIET. *2\^ 

Fri. Heaven pardai sin ! wast thou with RosaUne ? 

Rom. With RosaHne, my ghostly father ? no ; 
I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. 

Fri. That's my good son : But where hast thou been then ? 

Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. 
I have been feasting with mine enemy ; 
Where, on a sudden, one hath wounded me, 

That's by me wounded ; both our remedies % 

Within thy help and holy physic lies. 

Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift ; 
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. 

Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set 
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet : 
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine ; 
And all combin'd, save what thou must combine 
By holy marriage ; When, and where, and how. 
We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow, 
I'll tell thee as we pass ; but this I pray, 
That thou consent to marry us this day. 

Fri. Holy Saint Francis ! what a change is here ! 
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear. 
So soon forsaken ? young men's love then Hes 
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. 
Jesu Maria ! what a deal of brine 
Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline ! 
How much salt water thrown away in waste, 
To season love that of it doth not taste ! 
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears. 
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears ; 
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit 
Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet : 
If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine, 
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline ; 
And art thou chang'd ? pronounce this sentence then — 
Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. 

Rom. Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline. 

Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. 

Rom. And bad'st me bury love. 

Fri. Not in a grave, 

To lay one in, another out to have. 

Rom. I pray thee, chide not : she, whom I love now. 
Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow ; 
The other did not so. 

Fri. O, she knew well. 

Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell. 
But come, young waverer, come go with me, 
In one respect I'll thy assistant be ; 
For this alliance may so happy prove, 
To tarn your households' rancor to pure love. 



216 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Rom. O, let us hence ; I stand on sudden haste. 

Fri. Wisely, and slow ; they stumble that run fast. {Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— A Street. 

Enter Benvolio, and Mercutio. 

Mer. Where should this Romeo be ? — 
Came he not home to-night ? 

Ben. Not to his father's ; I spoke with his man. 

Mer. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted girl, that Rosaline, 
Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. 

Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, 
Hath sent a letter to his father's house. 

Mer. A challenge, on my life. 

Ben. Romeo will answer it. 

Mer. Any man that can write, may answer a letter. 

Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being 
dared. 

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead ! shot thorough the 
ear with a love-song ; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind 
bow-boy's butt-shaft ; And is he a man to encounter Tybalt ? 

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt ? 

Mer. More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is the 
courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing, keeps 
time, distance, and proportion ; rests me his minim rest, one, two, 
and the third in your bosom ; the very butcher of a silk button, a 
duellist, a gentleman of the very first house, — of the first and second 
cause : Ah, the immortal passado ! the punto reverse ! the hay ! 

Ben. The what ? 

Mer. The plague of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes ; 
these new tuners of accents! — Mafoi, a very good blade! — a very 
tall man ! — a very fine girl ! — Why, is not this a lamentable thing, 
grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, 
these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-moys 1 

Enter Romeo. 

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. 

Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring. Signior Romeo, hon 
jour ! there's a French salutation for you. 

Rom. Good-morrow to you both. 

Mer. You gave us the counterfeit last night. 

Rom. What counterfeit did I give you ? 

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip ; Can you not receive ? 

Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and, in 
such case as mine, a man may strain courtesy. 

Enter Nurse, and Peter. 
Nurse. Peter ! 
Peter. Anon ? 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 217 

Nurse. My fan, Peter. 

Mer. Pr'y'thee, do, good Peter, to hide her face ; for her fan's the 
fairer of the two. 

Nurse. Give ye good-morrow, gentlemen. 

Mer. Give ye good den, fair gentlewoman. 

Nurse. Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I m.ay find the 
young Romeo ? 

Rom. I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse. 

Nurse. You say well. If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence 
with you. 

Mer. Romeo, will you come to your father's ? — we'll to dinner 
thither. 

Rom. I will follow^ you. 

Mer. Farewell, ancient lady ; farewell. 

[Exeunt Mercutio, aiid Benvolio. 

Nurse. Marry, farewell ! — I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant 
was this, that was so full of his roguery ? 

Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk ; and 
will speak more in a minute, than he will stand to in a month. 

Nurse. An 'a speak any thing against me, I'll take him down. — 
Pray you, sir, a word : and as I told you, my young lady bade me 
inquire you out ; w^hat she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but 
first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into fool's paradise, as they 
say, it were a very gross kind of beha\ior, as they say : for the gen- 
tlewoman is young ; and, therefore, if you should deal double with 
her, truly, it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and 
very weak dealing. 

Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest 
anto thee, — 

Nurse. Good heart ! and, i' faith, I will tell her as much : oh, she 
will be a joyful woman. 

Rom. \Vhat wilt thou tell her, nurse ? thou dost not mark me. 

Nurse. I will tell her, sir, — that you do protest ; which, as I take 
It, is a gentlemanhke offer. 

Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to shrift 
This afternoon ; 

And there she shall at friar Laurence' cell 
Be shriv'd, and married. Here is for thy pains. 

Nurse. No, truly, sir ; not a penny. 

Rom. Go to ; I say, you shall. 

Nurse. This afternoon, sir*? well, she shall be there. 

Rom. Farewell ! — Commend me to thy lady. [Exit. 

Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. — Peter ! 

Peter. Anon ? 

Nurse. Peter, take my fan, and go before. [Exeunt, 



11 



218 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 



SCENE v.— Capulet's Garden. 

Enter Juliet. 
Jul. The clock struck nine, when I did send the nurse ; 
In half an hour she promis'd to return. 
Perchance, she cannot meet him : — that's not so. — • 
O, she is lame ! love's heralds should be thoughts. 
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams. 
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill 
Of this day's journey ; and from nine till twelve 
Is three long hours, — yet she is not come. 
Had she affections, and warm youthful blood. 
She'd be as swift in motion as a ball. 

Enter Nurse. 

O, she comes ! — O honey nurse, what news ? 

Now, good sv/eet nurse, — O ! why look'st thou so sad ? 

Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily ; — 

If good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news 

By playing it to me with so sour a face. 

Nurse. I am aweary, give me leave a while ; — 
Fye, how my bones ache ! What a jaunt have I had ! 

Jul. I would, thou hadst my bones, and I thy news : 
Nay, come, I pray thee, speak ; — good, good nurse, speak. 

Nurse. What haste ? can you not stay a while ? 
Do you not see, that I am out of breath ? 

Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath 
To say to me — that thou art out of breath ? 
The excuse, that thou dost make in this delay. 
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. 
Is thy news good, or bad ? answer to that ; 
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance : 
Let me be satisfied, Is't good or bad ? 

Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice ; you know not how 
to choose a man. — Go thy ways, girl ; serve Heaven. — What, have 
you dined at home ? 

Jul. No, no : But all this did I know before ; 
What says he of our marriage ? what of that ? 

Nurse. Oh, how my head aches ! wljat a head have I ! 
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. — 
Beshrew your heart, for sending me about. 
To catch my death with jaunting up and down? 

Jul. V faith, I am sorry that thou art not well : 
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love ? 

Nurse. Your love says like an honest gentleman, 
And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome. 
And, I warrant, a virtuous : — Where is your mother ? 
Jul. Where is my mother ? — why, she is within ; 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 219 

Where should she be ? How oddly thou reply'st ? 
Your love says like an honest gentleman^ — 
WJiere is your mother ? 

Nurse. Marry, come up, I trow ; 

Is this the poultice for my aching bones ? 
Henceforward do your messages yourself. 

Jul. Here's such a coil. — Come, what says Romeo ? 

Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day ? 

Jul. I have. 

Nurse. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' cell, 
There stays a husband to make you a wife. 
Go ; I'll to dinner : hie you to the cell. 

Jul. Hie to high fortune ! — honest nurse, farewell. [Exev 

SCENE Yl.^Friar Laurence's Cell. 

Enter Friar Laurence, and Romeo. 

Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act. 
That after-hours with sorrow chide us not ! 

Rom. Amen, amen ! but come what sorrow can, 
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy 
That one short minute gives me in her sight : 
Do thou but close our hands with holy words. 
Then love-devouring death do what he dare. 
It is enough I may but call her mine. 

Fri. These violent delights have violent ends. 
And in their triumph die ; like fire and powder, 
Which, as they kiss, consum^e : The sweetest honey 
Is loathsome in his own dehciousness. 
And in the taste confounds the appetite : 
Therefore, love moderately ; long love doth so ; 
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. 

Enter Juliet. 

Here comes the lady ; — O, so light a foot 
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint : 
A lover may bestride the gossamers 
That idle in the wanton summer aii*; 
And yet not fall ; so light is vanity. 

Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor. 

Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. 

Jul. As much to him, else are his thanks too much. 

Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy 
Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more 
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath 
This neighbor air, and let rich music's tongue 
Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both 
Receive in either by this dear encounter. 

Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, 



220 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Brags of his substance, not of ornament : 
They are but beggars that can count their worth ; 
But my true love is grown to such excess, 
I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth. 

Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short work ; 
For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone, 
Till holy church incorporate two in one. [Exeunt, 

ACT III. 

Tybalt, indignant at Romeo's intrusion at Capulet's feast, seeks occasion to quarrel with 
him ; Romeo refuses to fight, — Mercutio challenges Tybalt and falls in the encounter. 
Romeo avenges his death by slaying Tybalt, and is condemned by the Duke to perpetual 
banishment from Verona. 

SCENE IL — A Room in Capulet's House, 
Enter Juliet. 
Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, 
Towards Phoebus' mansion ; such a wagoner 
As Phceton would whip you to the west. 
And bring in cloudy night immediately. — 
Give me my Romeo : and, when he shall die, 
Take him and cut him out in little stars. 
And he will make the face of heaven so fine, 
That all the w^orld will be in love with night, 
And pay no w^orship to the garish sun. 
O, here comes my nurse, 

Enter Nurse. 
And she brings news ; and every tongue that speaks 
But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence. — 
Now, nurse, what news ? 
Ah me ! why dost thou wring thy hands ? 

Nurse. Ah well-a-day ! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead ! 
We are undone, lady, we are undone ! — 
Alack the day ! — he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead ! 

Jul. Can heaven be so envious ? 

Nurse. Romeo can. 

Though heaven cannot : — O Romeo, Romeo ! — 
Whoever would have thought it ? — Romeo ! 

Jul. What demon art thou, that dost torment me thus ? 
Hath Romeo slain himself ? say thou but ay. 
And that bare little word shall poison more 
^Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice. 

Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes, — 
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse ; 
Pale, pale as ashes ; — I swooned at the sight. 

Jul. O break, my heart ! — poor bankrupt, break at once ! 
To prison, eyes ! ne'er look on libertv ! 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 221 

Vile earth, to earth resign ; end motion here ; 
And thou, and Romeo, press one heavy bier ! 

Nur^e. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had ! 
O courteous Tybalt ! honest gentleman ! 
That ever I should live to see thee dead ! 

Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary ? 
Is Romeo slaughtered ; and is Tybalt dead ? 

Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished ; 
Romeo, that killed him, he is banished. 

Jul O heaven I did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood ? 

Nurse. It did, it did ; alas the day ! it did. 

Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flow 'ring face ! 
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave ? 
O, that deceit should dwell 
In such a gorgeous palace ! 

Nurse. There's no trust, 

No faith, no honesty in men ; all perjur'd. 
Shame come to Romeo ! 

Jul. Bhster'd be thy tongue, 

For such a v/ish ! he was not born to shame ! 
Upon his brow^ shame is asham'd to sit ; 
Ftfr 'tis a throne where honor may be crown'd 
Sole monarch of the universal earth. 
O, what a wretch was I to chide at him ! 
' Nurse. Will you speak w^ell of him that kill'd your cousin ? 

Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband ? 
Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, 
When I, thy three hours' wife, have mangled it ? — 
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring ; 
Your tributary drops belong to woe. 
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. 
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain, 
And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband : 
All this is comfort ; Wherefore weep I then ? 
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, 
That murder'd me : I would forget it fain ; 
But, O ! it presses to my memory, 
Tyhalt is dead, and Romeo — banished. 
That — banished, that one word — banished, 
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. 
Romeo is banished. In that one word, 
Is father, mother, Tybalt. Romeo, Juliet, 
All slain, all dead. 
Where is my father, and my mother, nurse ? 

Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse : 
Will you go to them ? I will bring you thither. 

Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears, mine shall be spent 
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. 

Nurse. Hie to your chamber : I'll find Romeo 



222 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

To comfort you : I wot well where he is. 
rU to him ; he is hid at Laurence' cell. 

Jul. O find him ! give this ring to my true knight^ 
And bid him come to take his last farewell. [_Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Fri^r Laurence's Cell 
Enter Friar Laurence, and Romeo. 

Fri. Romeo, come forth ; come forth, thou fearful man : 
Affliction is enamor'd of thy parts. 
And thou art wedded to calamity. 

Rom, Father, what news ? what is the prince's doom ? 
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand. 
That I yet know not ? 

Fri. Too familiar 

Is my dear son with such sour company ; 
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. 

Rom. What less than doomsday is the prince's doom ? 

Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his hps, 
Not body's death, but body's banishment. 

Rom. Ha ! banishment ? be merciful, say — death : 
For exile hath more terror in his look, • 

Much more than death : do not say — banishment. 
'Tis death mis-term'd : calling death — banishment, 
Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe, 
And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me. 

Fri. O deadly sin ! O rude imthankfulness ! 
Thy fault our law calls death ; but the kind prince 
Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, 
And turn'd that black word death to banishment : 
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. 

Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy : heaven is here 
Where Juliet lives. 
Oh Father ! how hast thou the heart. 
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, 
A'sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd. 
To mangle me with that word — banishment ? 

Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me bat speak a word. 

Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banisiiment. 

Fri. I'll give thee armor to keep off that w^ord ; 
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, 
To comfort thee, though thou art banished. 

Rom. Yet banished ? — Hang up philosophy ! 
Cnless philosophy can make a Juliet. 

Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears. 

Rom. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes ? 

Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. 

Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel : 
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, 



R03IE0 AND JULIET. 223 

An hoar but married, Tybalt murderedj 

Doting like me, and like me banished, 

Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear thy hair / 

And fall upon the ground, as I do now, 

Taking the measure of an unmade grave. 

Fri. Arise ; one knocks ; good Romeo, hide thyself. 

[Knocking within. 

Rom. Not I ; unless the breath of heart-sick groans, 
Mist-Uke, infold me from the search of eyes. [KnocJcing. 

Fri. Hark, how they knock ! — Who's there ? — Romeo, arise ; 
Thou wnlt be taken : — Stay awhile : — stand up ; \_Knoddng. 

What wilfulness is this ? — I come, I come. [Knodcing. 

Who knocks so hard ? whence come you ? what's your will. 

Nurse. [Within.] Let me come in, and you shall know my er- 
I come from my lady Juliet. [rand. 

Fri. Welcome then. 

Enter Nurse. 

Nurse. O holy friar ; O, tell me, holy friar, 
Wliere is my lady's lord, where's Romeo ? 

Fri. There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. 

Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case, 
Just in her case ! 

Fri. O woful sympathy ! 

Piteous predicament ! 

Nirse. Even so lies she. 

Stand up, stand up ; stand, an you be a man : 
For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise. 

Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet ? hovv^ is it with her ? 
Doth she not think me an old murderer, 
Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy 
With blood ? 
Where is she ? how doth she ? and what says she ? 

Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps ; 
And now falls on her bed ; and then starts up. 
And Tybalt calls ; and then on Romeo cries. 
And then down falls again. 

Rom. As if that name, 

Shot from the deadly level of a gun. 
Did murder her ; as that name's cursed hand 
Murder'd her kinsman. — O tell me, friar, tell me, 
In what vile part of this anatomy 
Doth my name lodge ? tell me, that I may sack 
The hateful mansion. [Draws his sword. 

Fri. Hold thy desperate hand : 

Art thou a man ? thy form cries out thou art ; 
Thy tears are womanish ; thy wild acts denote 
The unreasonable fury of a beast. 
Thou hast amaz'd me : bv mv holv order. 



224 3HAKSPEARIAN READER. 

I thought thy disposition better temper'd. 
Hast thou slain Tybalt ? wilt thou slay thyself ? 
And slay thy lady too that lives in thee ? 
What, rouse thee, man I thy Juliet is ahve. 
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, 
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her ; 
But, look, thou stay not till the watch be set. 
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua ; 
Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time 
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, 
Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back 
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy 
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. — 
Go, before, nurse : commend me to thy lady ; 
And bid her hasten all the house to rest. 
Romeo is coming. 

Nurse. O, I could have staid here all the night, 
To hear good counsel : O, what learning is ! — 
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. 

Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. 

Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir : 
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. [^Exit Nurse. 

Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this ! 

Fri. Go hence : Good night ; and here stands all your state ; 
Either begone before the watch be set, 
Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence : 
Sojourn in Mantua ; I'll find out your man, 
And he shall signify from time to time 
Every good hap to you, that chances here : 
Give me thy hand ; 'tis late : farewell ; good night. 

Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me, 
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee : 
Farewell. [Exeunt, 

SCENE v.— Juliet's Chamber. 
Enter Romeo, and Juliet. 

Jul. Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near day : 
It was the nightingale, and not the lark. 
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear; 
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree : 
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn. 
No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks 
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east : 
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day 
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops ; 
I must be gone and live, or stay and die. 

Jul. Yon Hght is not day-light. I know it, I : 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 225 

It is some meteor that the sun exhales. 
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, 
And Hght thee on thy way to Mantua : 
Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone. 

Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death ; 
I am content, so thou wilt have it so. 
I'll say, yon gray is not the morning's eye, 
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow ; 
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat 
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads : 
I have more care to stay than will to go ; — 
Come, death, and welcome ! Juliet wills it so. — 
How is't, my soul ? let's talk, it is not day. 

Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away ; 
It is the lark that sings so out of tune. 
Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps. 
O, now be gone ; more light and light it grows. 

Rom. More light and light ? — more dark and dark our woes. 

Enter Nurse. 

Nurse. Madam ! 

Jul Nurse? 

Nurse. Your lady mother's coming to your chamber . [Ex. Nurse. 

Rom. Farewell, farewell ! one kiss, and I'll descend. 

[Romeo descends, 

Jul. Art thou gone so ? my love ! my lord ! my friend ! 
I must hear from thee every day i' the hour, 
For in a minute there are many days : 
O ! by this count I shall be much in years, 
Ere I again behold my Romeo. 

Rom. Farewell ! I will omit no opportunity 
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. 

Jul. O, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again ? 

Rom. I doubt it not ; and all these woes shall serve 
For sweet discourses in our time to come. 

Jul. O Heaven ! I have an ill-divining soul ; 
Methinks, I see th«e, now thou art below, 
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb ; 
Either my eye-sight fails, or thou look'st pale. 

Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye, so do you ; 
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu ! adieu ! [Exit Romeo. 

Jul. O fortune, fortune ! all men call thee fickle : 
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him 
That is renown'd for faith ? Be fickle, fortune ; 
For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, 
But send him back. 



11* 



826 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 



ACT IV. 

Capulet determines to marry Juliet, immediately, to the County Paris ; she implores her 
parents in vain, to defer the match,— distracted at the thought of being compelled to 
marry a second husband while Romeo is yet hving, she consults Friar Laurence in her 
extremity. 

SCENE l.—Fiiar Laurence's Cell. 
Eniei' Friar Laurence, and Paris. 

Fri. On Thursday, sir ? the time is very short. 

Par. My father Capulet will have it so ; 
And I am nothing slow, to slack his haste. 

Fri. You say, you do not know^ the lady's mind ; 
Uneven is the course, I like it not 

Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, 
And therefore have I little talk'd of love ; 
Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous, 
That she doth give her sorrow so much sway : 
And, in his wisdom, hastes our marriage, 
To stop the inundation of her tears ; 
Wliich, too much minded by herself alone, 
May be put from her by society : 
Now, do you know the reason of this haste ? 

Fri. I would I knew not w^hy it should be slow'd. \^Aside, 

Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. 

Enter Juliet. 

Par. Happily met, my lady, and my wife ! 

Jul. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. 

Par. That may be, must be, love, on Thursday next. 

Jul. What must be, shall be. 

Fri. That's a certain text. 

Par. Come you to make confession to this father ? 

Jul. To answer that, were to confess to you. 
Are you at leisure, holy father, now ; 
Or shall I come to you at evening mass ? 

Fri. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now : — 
My lord, we must entreat the time alone. 

Par. Heaven shield, I should disturb devotion 1 
Juliet, farewell. [^Exit Paris. 

Jul. O, shut the door ! and when thou hast done so, 
Come weep with me : Past hope, past cure, past help ! 

Fri. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; 
It strains me past the compass of my wits : 
I hear thou must, and nothing must prorogue it, 
On Thursday next be manned to this county. 

Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, 
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it : 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 227 

If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, 

Do tJiou but call my resolution wise, 

And with this knife Til help it presently. 

Heaven joined my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands ; 

And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd, 

Shall be the label to another deed. 

Or my true heart with treacherous revolt 

Turn to another, this shall slay them both : 

Therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time, 

Give me some present counsel ; or, behold, 

'Tuixt my extremes and me this bloody knife 

Shall play the umpire. 

Fri. Hold, daughter ; I do spy a kind of hope, 
Which craves as desperate an execution 
x\s that is desperate wiiich we w^ould prevent. 
If, rather than to marry County Paris, 
Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself; 
Then is it likely, thou wilt undertake 
A thing like death to chide avv^ay this shame. 
That cop'st with death himself to 'scape from it; 
And, if thou dar'st, PU give thee remedy. 

Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, 
From off the battlements of yonder tower ; 
Or walk in thie\ish ways ; or bid me lurk 
Where serpents are ; chain me with roaring bears ; 
Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, 
O'er-covered quite with dead men's rattling bones ; 
Or bid me go into a new^-made grave. 
And hide me with a dead man in his shroud ; 
Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble ; 
x\nd I will do it without fear or doubt. 
To Hve an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. 

Fri. Hold, then ; go home, be merry, give consent 
To marry Paris : Wednesday is to-morrow : 
To-morrow night look that thou lie alone, 
Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber : 
Take thou this phial, being then in bed. 
And this distilled liquor drink thou off; 
When, presently, through all thy veins shall run 
A cold and drowsy humor, which shall seize 
Each vital spirit ; for no pulse shall keep 
His natural progress, but surcease to beat : 
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv'st ; 
The roses in thy Hps and cheeks shall fade 
To paly ashes ; thy eyes' windows fall. 
Like death, w^hen he shuts up the day of life ; 
Each part, depriv'd of supple government, 
Shall stiff, and stark, and cold, appear like death : 
And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death 



228 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Thou slialt remain full two and forty hours, 

And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. 

Now when the bridegroom in the morning comes 

To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead : 

Then (as the manner of our country is,) 

In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier, 

Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault, • 

Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. 

In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, 

Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift : 

And liither shall he come ; and he and I 

Will watch thy waking, and that very night 

Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. 

And this shall free thee from this present shajne ; 

If no unconstant toy, nor womanish fear, 

Abate thy valor in the acting it. 

Jul. Give me, O give me ! tell me not of fear. 

Fri. Hold ; get you gone, be strong and prosperous 
In this resolve : I'll send a friar with speed 
To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. 

Jul. Love, give me strength ! and strength shall help afford. 
Farewell, dear father ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Juliet's Chamber, 

Enter Juliet, and Nurse. 

Jul. Ay, those attires are best : — But, gentle nurse, 
I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night ; 
For I have need of many orisons 
To move the heavens to smile upon my state. 
Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full of sin. 

Enter Lady Capulet. 

La. Cap. What, are you busy ? do you need my help ? 

Jul. No, madam ; w^e have cuU'd such necessaries 
As are behoveful for our state to-morrow : 
So please you, let me now be left alone. 
And let the nurse tliis night sit up with you ; 
For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, 
In this so sudden business. 

ha. Cap. Good night ! 

Get thee to bed, and rest ; for thou hast need. 

[Exeunt Lady Capulet, and Nurse. 

Jul. Farewell ! — heaven knows, when we shall meet again. 
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins. 
That almost freezes up the heat of hfe : 
I'll call them back again to comfort me : — 
Nurse ! — What should she do here ? 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 229 

My dismal scene I needs must act alone. — 
Come, phial. — 

What if this mixture do not work at all ? 
Must I of force be married to the county ? — 
No, no ; — this shall forbid it : — lie thou there. — 

[Laying down a dagger. 
What if it be a poison, which the friar 
Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead ; 
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonor'd, 
Because he married me before to Romeo ? 
I fear, it is : and yet, methinks, it should not, 
For he hath still been tried a holy man : 
I will not entertain so bad a thought. — 
How if, when I am laid into the tomb, 
I wake before the time that Romeo 
Come to redeem me ? there's a fearful point ! 
Shall I not then be stifled in the vault, 
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, 
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes ? 
Or, if I live, is it not very like. 
The horrible conceit of death and night, 
Together with the terror of the place, 
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, 
Where, for these many hundred years, the bones 
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd ; 
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth. 
Lies fest'ring in his shroud ; where, as they say, 
At some hours in the night spirits resort : — 
O ! if I wake, shall I not be distraught. 
Environed with all these hideous fears ? 
And mxadly play with my forefathers' joints ? 
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud ? 
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, 
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains ? 
O, look ! methinks, I see my cousin's ghost 
Seeking out Romeo. — Stay, Tybalt, stay ! — 
Romeo, I come ! this do I drink to thee. 

[ She throws herself on the led. 

Juliet being supposed dead is interred in " the Tomb of the Capulets " 

ACT V. 

SCENE L— Mantua. A Street. 

Enter Romeo. 

Rom. If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, 
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand : 
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne ; 
And, ail tliis day, an unaccustom'd spirit 



230 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. 
I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead ; 
And breath'd such hfe with kisses in my lips, 
That I reviv'd, and was an emperor. 

Enter Balthasar, 

News from Verona ! — How now, Balthasar ? 
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar ? 
How doth my lady ? Is my father well ? 
How fares my Juliet ? That I ask again ; 
For nothing can be ill, if she be well. 

Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill : 
Her body sleeps in Capulet's monument. 
And her immortal part with angels lives. 
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, 
And presently took post to tell it you : 

pardon me for bringing these ill news. 
Since you did leave it for my office, sir. 

Rom. Is it even so ? then I defy you, stars ! — 
Thou know'st my lodging : get me ink and paper, 
And hire post-horses : I w^ill hence to-night. 

Bal. Pardon me, sir, I will not leave you thus : 
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import 
Some misadventure. 

Rom. Tush, thou art deceiv'd ; 

Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. 
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar ? 

Bal. No, my good lord. 

Rom. No matter : get thee gone. 

And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight. [Exit Bai ihasar. 
Well, Juliet, I will be with thee to-night. 
Let's see for means : — O, mischief ! thou art swift 
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men ! 

1 do remember an apothecary, — 

And hereabouts he dwells, — whom late I noted 

In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, 

Culling of simples ; meagre were his looks, 

Sharp misery had worn him to the bones : 

And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, 

An alliorator stufF'd, and other skins 

Of ill-snap'd fishes ; and about his shelves 

A beggarly account of empty boxes. 

Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds. 

Remnants of packthread, and old caJies of roses. 

Were thinly scatter'd to make up a show. 

Noting his penury, to myself I said — 

An if a man did need a poison now 

Whose sale is present death in Mantua, 

Here lives a caitiff wretch w^ould sell it him. 



R03IE0 AND JULIET. 231 

O, this same thought did but fore-run my need 
As I remember, this should be the house : 
Being hoHday. the beggar's shop is shut. — 
Wliat. ho I apothecar}' I 

Enter Apothecary. 

Ap. Who calls so loud ? 

Rom. Come hither, man. — I see, that thou art poor: 
Hold, there is forty ducats : let me have 
A dram of poison ; such soon-speeding gear 
As will disperse itself tlirough all the veins, 
That the life-weary taker may fall dead. 

Ap. Such mortal drugs I have ; but Mantua's law 
Is death, to any he that utters them. 

Rom. Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, 
And fear'st to die ? famine is in thy cheeks, 
Need and oppression star\-eth in thy eyes, 
Upon thy back hangs ragged misery, 
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law: 
The world affords no law to make thee rich ; 
Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. 

Ay. My poverty, but not my will, consents. 

Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. 

Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will. 
And drink it off; and, if you had the strength 
Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. 

Rom. There is thy gold ; v/orse poison to men's souls, 
Doing more murders in this loatlisome world, 
Than these poor compounds that thou may'st not sell : 
I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none. 
Farewell : buy food, and get thyself in flesh. — 
Come, cordial, and not poison ; go with me 
To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee. [Exeunt. 

Friar Laurence learns that the messenger to Romeo has failed, lie goes to the church- 
yard to remove Juliet from the Tomb. 

SCENE in. — A Church' Yard ; in it, a Monum£nt belonging to the 

Capulets, 

Enter Pakis. and his Page, bearing flowers and a torch. 
Par. Give me thy torch, boy : Hence, and «tand aloof ; — 
Yet put it out. for I would not be seen. 
Under yon yew trees lay thee all along, 
Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground ; 
So shall no foot upon the church-yard tread, 
(Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,) 
But thou shalt hear it : whistle then to me 
As signal that thou hear'st something approach. 
Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee. ^o. 



232 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Page. I am almost afraid to stand alone 
Here in the church-yard ; yet I will adventute. {Retires. 

Par. Sweet flower, with flow^ers thy bridal bed I strew. 
Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain, 
Accept this latest favor at my hands ; 
That living honor 'd thee ; and, being dead, 

With funeral praises do adorn thy tomb ! [TTie Boy whistles. 

The boy gives warning, something doth approach. 
What cursed foot wanders this way to-night. 
To cross my obsequies, and true love's rites ? 
What, wdth a torch ! — muffle me, night, a while. [Retires. 

Enter Romeo, and Balthasar, with a torch, mattock, <SfC> 

Rom. Give me that mattock, and the wrenching iron. 
Hold, take this letter ; early in the morning 
See thou deliver it to my lord and father. 
Give me the light : Upon thy life I charge thee, 
Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof, 
And do not interrupt me in my course. 
Why I descend into this bed of death, 
Is, partly, to behold my lady's face : 
But, chiefly, to take thence from her dead finger 
A precious ring ; a ring, that I must use 
In dear employment : therefore hence, be gone : — 
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry 
In what I further shall intend to do. 
By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint. 
And strew" this hungry church-yard with thy limbs: 
The time and my intents are savage-wild ; 
More fierce, and more inexorable far. 
Than empty tigers, or the roaring sea. 

Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 

Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship. — Take thou that : 
Live, and be prosperous ; and fare\C^eli, good fellow. 

Bal. For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout ; 
His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Retires. 

Rom. Thou detestable maw, 
Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth, 
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, 

[Breaking open the door of the monument. 
And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food ! 

Par. Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague ; [Advances, 

Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death ? 
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee ; 
Obey, and go with me, for thou must die. 

Rom. I must, indeed ; and therefore came I hither.— 
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man, 
Fly hence and leave me ; — think upon these gone ; 
Let them aftright thee : — I beseech thee, youth, 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 233 

Heap not another sin upon my head, 

By urging me to fury : — O, be gone ! 

By heaven, I love thee better than myself ; 

For I come hither arm'd against myself : 

Stay not, be gone ; — live, and hereafter say — 

A madman's mercy bade thee run away. 

Par. I do defy thy conjurations. 
And do attach thee as a felon here. 

Rom. Wilt thou provoke me ? then have at thee, boy. 

[Theyfight. 

Par. O. I am slain ! — {Falls.'] — If thou be merciful, 
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [^Dies, 

Rom. In faith, 1 ^\\\\ : — Let me peruse this face ; — 
Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris. — 
One writ with me in soiir misfortune's book ! 
m bury thee in a triumphant grave, — 
For here lies Juliet. — O, my love ! my wife ! 
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath. 
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty : 
Thou art not conquered ; beauty's ensign yet 
Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks. 
And death's pale flag is not advanced there — 
Ah, dear Juliet, why art thou yet so fair ? 
Here, here will I remain : O, here 
Will I set up my everlasting rest ; 
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars 
From this world- wearied flesh. 
Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavory guide ! 
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on 
The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weaiy bark ! 
Here's to my love ! — \_Drin'ks.'] — O, true apothecary ! 
Thy drugs are quick. — Thus with a kiss I die. [^Dies. 

Enter ^ at the oilier end of the church-yard, Friar LAURE^XE, loith a 
lantern, crow, and spade. 

Fri. Saint Francis be my speed ! how oft to-night 
Have my old feet stumbled at graves ? — WTio's there ? 
Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead ? 

Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you weh. 

Fri. Bliss be upon you ! Tell me, good my friend, 
What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light 
To grubs and eyeless skulls ; as I discern, 
It burneth in the Capel's monument. 

Bal. It doth so, holy sir ; and there's my master, 
One that you love. 

Fri. Who is it ? 

Bal, Romeo. 

Fri. How long hath he been there ? 

Bal. Full half an hour. 



234 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Fri. Go with me to the vault. 

Bal. I dare not, sir : 

My master knows not, but I am gone hence ; 
And fearfully did menace me with death, 
If I did stay to look on his intents. 

Fri. Stay then, I'll go alone : — Fear comes upon me ; 
O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. 

Bal. As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, 
I dreamt my master and another fought, 
And that my master slew him. 

Fri. Romeo ! — [Advances, 

Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains 
The stony entrance of this sepulchre ? — 
What mean these masterless and gory swords 

To lie discolor'd by this place of peace ? [Enters the monument. 

Romeo ! O, pale ! — Who else ? what, Paris too ? 
And steep'd in blood ? — Ah, what an unkind hour 
Is guilty of this lamentable chance ! — 
The lady stirs. [Juliet wakes and stirs. 

Jul. O. comfortable friar ! where is my lord ? 
I do remember well where I should be, 
And there I am : Where is my Romeo ? [Noise icithin. 

Fri. I hear some noise. — Lady, come from that nest 
Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep ; 
A greater Power than we can contradict 
Hath thwarted our intents ; come, come away : 
Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead ; 
And Paris too ; come, I'll dispose of thee 
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns ; 
Stay not to question, for the watch is coming ; 
Come, go, good Juliet. — [Noise again.] I dare stay no longer. 

[Exit. 

Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. — 
What's here ? a cup, clos'd in my true love's hand ? 
Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end :— 
O churl ! drink all ; and leave no friendly drop, 
To help me after ? — I will kiss thy lips ; 
Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them, 

To make me die with a restorative. [Kisses him. 

Thy lips are warm ! 

1st Watch. [Within.] Lead, boy : — Which way ? 

Jul. Yea, noise ? — then I'll be brief. — O happy dagger ! 

[Snatching Romeo's dagger. 
This is thy sheath ; [Stahs herself.] there rust, and let me die. 

[Falls on Romeo's body, and dies. 




THE MEECHAIN'T OF VENICE. 



This Play is justly placed among the most perfect of Shakspeare's composiiions. The 
master-piece of character, as exhibited in Shylock. the Jew, would alone entitle it to this 
classification. 

The double plot of this Drama was borrowed by Shaksj^eare from traditionary stories 
current in his time. The Jews at that period were a despised and persecuted race ; the Poet 
has lent himself to the prejudices entertained by Christians against Jews, and yet he has 
n^ade Shylock appear as the champion and avenger of an oppressed people, rather than the 
sordid contemptible character, then thought to be the distinctive qualification of " God's 
ancient people." 
dddd 

PERSONS REPRESEXTED. 

Duke of Venice. 

Prince of Morocco, } .^ ^ r> • 
■n * i suitors to Portia. 

Prlvce of Arragon, J 

Antoxio, the Jlerchant 0/ Venice. 

Bassamo, his friend. 

Salanio, Salarino, Gratiaxo, friends to Antonio and Bassanio. 

Lorenzo, in love with Jessica. 

Shylock, a Jew. 

Tubal, a Jew, his friend. 

Launcelot G0BBO5 a clown, servant to Shylock. 

Old GoBBO, father to Launcelot. 

Salerio, a messenger from Venice. 

Leonardo, servant to Bassanio. 

Balthazar, Stephan'o, servants to Portia. 

Portia, a rich heiress. 
Nerissa, her waiting-maid. 
Jessica, daughter to Shyiock. 

Magnifcoes 0/ Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Gaoler, Servants, 
and other Attendants. 

SCE^E,— partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia, 
on the Continent. 



236 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.— Venice. A Street 

Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio. 

Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad ; 
It wearies me ; you say, it wearies you ; 
But how I caught it. found it, or came by it. 
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, 
I am to learn ; 

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, 
That I have much ado to know myself. 

Scdar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean ; 
There, where your argosies with portly sail, — 
Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood, 
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, — 
Do overpeer the petty traffickers, 
That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, 
As they fly by them with their woven wings. 

Solan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, 
The better part of my affections would 
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still 
Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind ; 
Peering in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads ; 
And every object, that might make me fear 
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt, 
Would make me sad. 

Salar. My wind, cooling my broth, 

Would blow me to an ague, when I thought 
What harm a wind too great might do at sea. 
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run. 
But I should think of shallows and of flats ; 
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand, 
Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs. 
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church, 
And see the holy edifice of stone, 
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks ? 
Which touching but my gentle vessel's side, 
Would scatter all her spices on the stream ; 
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks ; 
And, in a word, but even now worth this. 
And now worth nothing ? Shall I have the thought 
To think on this ; and shall I lack the thought, 
That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me sad ? 
But tell not me ; I know Antonio 
Is sad to think upon his merchandise. 

Ant. Believe me, no : I thank my fortune for it, 
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 237 

Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate 
Upon the fortune of this present year : 
Therefore, my merchandise makes me not sad. 

Salan. Why then you are in love. 

Aiit. Fye. fye ! 

Salan. Not in love neither ? Then let's say, you are sad, 
Because you are not merry : and 'twere as easy 
For you to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merry. 
Because you are not sad. Now, by the two-headed Janus, 
Nature liath fram'd strange fellows in her time : 
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, 
And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper : 
And other of such vinegar aspect. 
That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, 
Though Nestor svv^ear the jest be laughable. 

Filter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. 

Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, 
Gratiano, and Lorenzo : Fare you well ; 
We leave you now with better company. 

Salar. I would have staid till I had made yon merry, 
If worthier friends had not prevented me. 

Ant. Your worth is ver}^ dear in my regard. 
I take it, your own business calls on you, 
And you embrace the occasion to depart. 

Salar. Good mon'ow, my good lords. 

Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh ? Say, when ? 
You grow exceeding strange : Must it be so ? 

Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. 

[Ejjeunt Salarino, and Salanio. 

Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio, 
We two will leave you : but, at dinner time, 
I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. 

Bass. I will not fail you. 

Gra. You look not well, signior x\ntonio ; 
You have too much respect upon the world : 
They lose it, that do buy it with much care. 
Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd. 

Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano ; 
A stage, where ever}- man must play a part, 
And mine a sad one. 

Gra. Let me play the Fool : 

With mirth and laughter let old wrjjikles come. 
Why should a man, whose blood is \varm within, 
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ? 
Sleep when he wakes ? and crefg) into the jaundice 
By being peevish ? I tell thee what, Antonio, — 
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks : — 
There are a sort of men, whose visao-es 



238 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond ; 

And do a wilful stillness entertain, 

With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion 

Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit ; 

As who should say, / am Sir Oracle, 

Arid, lohen I ope my lips, let no dog hark ! 

O, my Antonio, I do know of these, 

That therefore only are reputed wise. 

For saying nothing ; who, I am very sure. 

If they should speak, would almost damn those ears, 

Which, hearing them, would call their brothers, fools. 

I'll tell thee more of this another time : 

But fish not, with this melancholy bait. 

For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion. — 

Come, good Lorenzo : Fare ye well, a while ; 

I'll end my exhortation after dinner. 

Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time. 
I must be one of these same dumb wise men. 
For Gratiano never lets me speak. 

Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more, 
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. 

Ant. Farewell : I'll grow a talker for this gear. 

Gi^a. Thanks, i' faith ; for silence is only commendable 
In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. 

[Exeunt Gratiano, and Lorenzo. 

A7it. Is that any thing now ? 

Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any 
man in all Venice : His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in 
two bushels of chafF; you shall seek all day ere you find them ; and, 
when you have them, they are not worth the search. 

Ant. Well ; tell me now, what lady is this same, 
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage. 
That you to-day promis'd to tell me of ? 

Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio. 
How much I have disabled mine estate. 
By something showing a more swelling port 
Than my faint means would grant continuance : 
Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd 
From such a noble rate ; but my chief care 
Is, to come fairly oflT from the great debts. 
Wherein my time, something too prodigal, 
Hath left me gaged : To you, Antonio, 
I owe the most, in money, and in 4ove ; 
And from your love I have a warranty 
To unburden all my plots, and purposes, 
How to get clear 3f all the debts I o^e. 

Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it ; 
And, if it stand, as you yourself still do, 
Within the eye of honor, be assur'd. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 239 

My purse, my person, my extremes! means, 

Lie ail unlock'd to your occasions. 

Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft, 

I shot his fellow of the self-same flight , 

The self-same way, with more advised watch, 

To And the other forth ; and by advent'ring both, 

I oft found both : I urge this childish proof. 

Because what follows is pure innocence. 

1 owe you much ; and, like a wilful youth. 

That which I owe is lost : but if you please 

To shoot another arrow that self way 

Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, 

As I will watch the aim. or to find both, 

Or bring your latter hazard back again, 

And thankfully rest debtor for the first. 

Ant. You know me well, and herein spend but time, 

To wind about my love with circumstance ; 

Andj out of doubt, you do me now more wrong, 

In making question of my utteraiost, 

Than if you had made waste of all I have : 

Then do but say to me w^hat I should do, 

That in your knowledge may by me be done, 

And I am prest into it : therefore, speak. 
Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left. 

And she is fair, and, fairer than that word. 

Of wond'rous virtues ; sometimes from her eyes 

I did receive fair speechless messages : 

Her name is Portia ; nothing undervalued 

To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia. 

Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth ; 

For the four winds blow in from every coast 

Renowned suitors : and her sunny locks 
I Hang on her temples Hke a golden fleece ; 
I Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos' strand, 
j And many Jasons come in quest of her. 
\ O my Antonio, had I but the means 
J To hold a rival place with one of them. 
1 I have a mind presages me such thrift, 
', That I should questionless be fortunate. 

Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at sea ; ' 

Nor have I money, nor commodity 

To raise a present sum : therefore go forth, 

Try what my credit can in Venice do ; 

That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost, 

To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 

Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 

Where money is ; and I no question make. 

To have it of my trust, or for my sake. [ExenTii, 



240 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

SCENE IT. — Belmont. A Boom in Portia's House. 
Enter Portia, and Nerissa. 

Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a-weary of this great 
world. 

Ne)\ You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the 
same abundance as your good fortunes are : And yet, for aught I 
see, they are as sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve 
with nothing : It is no mean happiness, therefore, to be seated in the 
mean ; superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency hves 
longer. 

Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced. 

Ner. They would be better, if well followed. 

Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, 
chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages, princes' palaces. 
It is a good divine that follows his own instructions : I can easier 
teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty 
to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the 
blood ; but a hot temper leaps over a cold decree : such a hare is 
madness, the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel, the 
cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a 
husband : — O me, the word choose ! I may neither choose whom I 
would, nor refuse whom I disHke ; so is the will of a living daughter 
curb'd by the will of a dead father : — Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I 
cannot choose one, nor refuse none ? 

Ner. Your father was ever virtuous ; and holy men, at their death, 
have good inspirations ; therefore, the lottery, that he hath devised in 
these three chests, of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who chooses 
his meaning, chooses you,) will, no doubt, never be chosen by any 
rightly, but one who you shall rightly love. But what warmth is 
there in your affection towards any of these princely suitors that are 
already come ? 

Por. I pray thee, overname them ; and as thou namest them, I 
will describe them ; and according to my description, level at my af- 
fection. 

Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 

Por. Ay, that's a colt, indeed, for he does nothing but talk of his 
horse ; and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts, 
that he can shoe him himself. 

Ner. Then, is there the county Palatine. 

Por. He doth nothing but frown ; as who should say, And if you 
will not huve me, choose : he hears merry tales, and smiles not : I 
fear, he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being 
so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be married 
to a death's head with a bone in his mouth, than to either of these. 
Heaven defend me from these two ! 

Ner. How say you by the French lord. Monsieur Le Bon ? 

Por. Heaven made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. 

Ner. You need not fear, lady, the hpiving any of these lords ; they 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 241 

have acquainted me with their determination? : which is, indeed, to 
return to their home, and to trouble you with no more suit ; unless, 
you may be won by some other sort than your father's imposition, 
depending on the caskets. 

Por. If I Hve to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as Diana, 
unless I be obtained by the manner of my father's will : I am glad 
this parcel of wooers are so reasonable ; for there is not one among 
them but I dote on liis very absence, and I pray Heaven grant them 
a fair departure. 

Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a Vene- 
tian, a scholar, and a soldier, that came hither in company of the 
Marquis of Montferrat ? 

Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio ; as I think, so was he called. 

Ner, True, madam ; he, of all the m.en that ever my foolish eyes 
looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady. 

Por. I remember him well ; and I remember him worthy of thy 
praise. — How now ! what news ? 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their leave : 
and there is a fore-runner come from a fifth, the prince of Morocco ; 
who brings word, the prince, his master, will be here to-night. 

Por. If I could bid the fifth w^elcome ^\ith so good heart as I can 
bid the other four farewell, I should be glad' of his approach. Come, 
Nerissa. — Sirrah, go before. — Whiles we shut the gate upon one 
wooer, another knocks at the door. [Exeuni. 

SCENE m.— Venice. A public Place. 
Enter Bassanio and Shtlock. 

Shy. Three thousand ducats, — w^ell. 

Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. 

Shy. For three m.onths, — well. 

Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. 

Shy. Antonio shall become bound, — well. 

Bass. May you stead me ? Will you pleasure me ? 
Shall I know your answer ? 

Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, and Antonio 
bound. 

Bass. Your answer to that. 

Shy. x\ntonio is a good man. 

Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary ? 

Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no ; — my meaning, in saying he is a good 
man, is to have you understand me, that he is sufficient : yet his 
means are in supposition : he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, 
another to the Indies ; I understand moreover upon the Rialto, he 

hath a third at ^lexico, a fourth for England, and other ventures 

he hath, squandered abroad ; But ship^s are but boards, sailors but 
men : there be land-rats, and water-rats, water-thieves, and land- 

12 



^ 



242 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

thieves ; I mean, pirated ; and then, there is the peril of water, winds, 
and rocks : The man is, notwithstanding, sufficient ; — three thousand 
ducats ; — I think, I may take his bond. 

Bass. Be assured you may. 

Shij. I will be assured, I may ; and, that I may be assured, I will 
bethink me : May I speak with Antonio ? 

Bass. If it please you, dine with us. 

Shy. Yes, to smell pork ; I will buy with you, sell with you, talk 
with you, walk with you, and so following : but I will not eat with 
you, drink with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto ? 
— Who is he comes here ? 

Enter Antonio. 

Bass. This is sipjnior Antonio. 

Shy. [Aside.] How hke a fawning publican he looks ! 
I hate him, for he is a Christian : 
But more, for that, in low simplicity, 
He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
i I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails. 
Even there where merchants most do congregate, 
On me, my bargains, and my well- won thrift, 
Which he calls interest : Cursed be my tribe, 
If I forgive him ! 

Bass. Shylock, do you hear ? 

Shy. I am debating of my present store : 
And, by the near guess of my memory, 
I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
Of full three thousand ducats : What of that ? 
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe, 
Will furnish me : but soft ; How many months 
Do you desire ? — Rest you fair, good signior : [ To Antonio. 

Your worship was the last man in our mouths. 

Ant. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow, 
By taking, nor by giving of excess, 
Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend, 
I'll break a custom : — Is he yet possess'd, 
How much you would ? 

Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. 

Ant, And for three months. 

Shy. 1 had forgot, — three months, you told me so. 

Well then, your bond ; and, let me see, But hear j^^ou : 

Methought, you said, you neither lend, nor borrow, 
Upon advantage. 

Ant. I do never use it. 

Shy. Three thousand ducats — 'tis a good round sum^ I ^ 

Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate?. Ii 



I 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 248 

Ant. Well, Shylock. shall we be beholden to you ? 

Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft, 
In the Rialto you have rated me 
About my monies, and my usances : 
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ; 
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe : 
You call m^e — misbeliever, cut-throat dog. 
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine. 
And all for use of that which is mine own. 
Well then, it now appears, you need my help : 
Go to then ; you come to me, and you say, 
Shylock, we would have monies ; You say so ; 
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, 
And foot me, as you spur a stranger cur 
Over your threshold ; monies is your suit. 
What should I say to you ? Should I not say, 
Hath a dog money ? is it possible, 
A cur can lend three thousand ducats 7 or 
Shall T bend low, and in a bondsman's key, 
With 'bated breath, and w^hispering humbleness, 

Say this,- 

Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last : 
You spurn' d me such, a day ; another time 
You calVd me — dog ; and for these courtesies 
Pll lend you thus much monies. 

Ant. T am as like to call thee so again, 
To spit on thee again, to spui-n thee too. 
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
As to thy friends ; (for v/hen did friendship take 
A breed for barren metal of his friend ?) 
But lend it rather to thine enemy ; ^ 

Who, if he break, thou may'st with better face 
Exact the penalty. 

Shy. . Why, look you, how you storm ! 

I would be friends with you, and have your love. 
Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with, 
Supply your present wants, and take no doit 
Of usance for my monies, and you'll not hear me : 
This is kind I offer. 

Ant. This were kindness. 

Shy. This kindness will I show ; — 

Go with me to a notary, seal me there 
Your single bond ; and, in a merry sport, 
If you repay me not on such a day, 
In such a place, such sum, or sums, as are 
Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit 
Be nominated for an equal pound 
Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 
In what part of your body pleaseth me. 



244 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Ant. Content, in faith ; I'll seal to such a bond, 
And say, there is much kindness in the Jew. 

Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me, 
I'll rather dwell in my necessity. 

Ant. Why, fear not, man ; I will not forfeit it. 
Within these two months, that's a month before 
This bond expires, I do expect return 
Of thrice three times the value of this bond. 

Shy. O father Abraham, what these Christians are. 
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect 
The thoughts of others ! Pray you, tell me this : 
If he should break his day, what should I gain 
By the exaction of the forfeiture ? 
A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man, 
Is not so estimable, profitable neither, 
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say, 
To buy his favor, I extend this friendship ; 
If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; 
And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not. 

Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. 

Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's ; 
Give him direction for this merry bond. 
And I will go and purse the ducats straight ; 
See to my house, left in the fearful guard 
Of an unthrifty knave ; and presently 
I will be with you. \^ExiL 

Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew. 

This Hebrew w411 turn Christian ; he grows kind. 

Bass. I like r.ot fair terms, and a villain's mind. 

Ant. Come on ; in this there can be no dismay. 
My ships come home a month before the day. {Exeunt, 

ACT II. 

Bassanio obtains the loan of three thousand ducats from Shylock, on the merchant's 
bond, with the penalty of " the pound of flesh," as the forfeit for non-payment. He then 
prepares for making proposals for Portia's hand, but previous to his departure he invites hli 
friends to an entertainment : — Shylock is also one of the invited guests. 

Launcelot, a former domestic of the Jew's, has entered into the service of Bassanio, 
and is made the messenger between Lorenzo and Jessica, who have planned an elope- 
ment, while Shylock is engaged at Bassanio's feast. 

SCENE Y.—The same. Before Shylock's House. 

Enter Shylock, and Launcelot. 

Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge. 
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio : — 
What, Jessica ! — thou shalt not gormandize, 
As thou hast done with me ; — What. Jessica ! — 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 245 

And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ; — 
Why, Jessica, I say ! 

Laun. Why, Jessica ! 

Sliy. Who bids thee call ? I did not bid thee call. 

Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, I could do nothing with- 
out bidding. 

Enter Jessica. 

Jes. Call you ? What is your will ? 

Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica ; 
There are my keys : — But wherefore should I go ? 
I am not bid for love ; they flatter me : 
But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon 
The prodigal Christian. — Jessica, my girl. 
Look to my house : — I am right loath to go ; 
There is some ill a brewing towards my rest, 
For I did dream of money-bags to-night. 

Laun. I beseech you, sir, go on ; my young master doth expect 
your reproach. 

Shy. So do I his. 

Laun, And they have conspired together, — I will not say, you 
shall see a masque ; but if you do, then it was not for nothing that 
my nose fell a bleeding on Black-Monday last, at six o'clock i' the 
morning, falhng out that year on Ash- Wednesday, was four year in 
the afternoon. 

Sliy. What : are there masques ? Hear you me, Jessica : 
Lock up my doors ; and when you hear the drum, 
And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife, 
Clamber not you up to the casements then, 
Nor thrust your head into the pubHc street, 
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces. 
But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements ; 
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter 
My sober house. — By Jacob's staff, I sw^ear, 
I have no mind of feasting forth to-night : 
But I will go. — Go you before me, sirrah ; 
Say, I will come. 

Laun. I will go before, sir. — 

Mistress, look out at window, for all this ; \^Aside, 

There will come a Christian by. 
Will be w^orth a Jewess' eye. [Exit Laun. 

Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha ? 

Jes, His words were. Farewell, mistress ; nothing else. 

Shy. The patch is kind enough ; but a huge feeder, 
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
More than the wild cat ; drones hive not with me ; 
Therefore I part with him ; and part with him 
To one that I would have him help to waste 
His borrow'd purse. — Well, Jessica, go in ; 



■4 



246 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Perhaps, I will return immediately ; 

Do, as I bid you, 

Shut doors after you : Fast bind, fast find ; 

A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit. 

Jes. Farewell ; and if my fortune be not crost, 
I have a father, you a daughter lost. [Exit. 

Jessica elopes with Lorenzo, carrying with her large sums of money, and valuable jew- 
els belonginof to her father. 



ACT III. 

Shylock is introduced in the following powerfully wrought scene, smarting under his 
losses, and the want of duty in his daughter. He has also learned that Antonio the Mer- 
chant, has suffered severe losses at sea, and instigated by revenge he determines to enforce 
the " full penalty " of the Bond. 

SCENE I. — A street in Venice. 
Enter Salanio, and Sal a ring. 

Solar. Why man, I saw Bassanio under sail ; 
With him is Gratiano gone along ; 
And in their ship, I am sure, Lorenzo is not. 

Salan. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the duke ; 
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship. 
I never heard a passion so confus'd. 
So strange, outrageous, and so variable. 
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets : 
3Iy daughter ! — O my ducats !• — O my daughter ! 
Fled with a Christian? — O my christian ducats!— 
Justice ! the low ! my ducats and my daughter ! 
Let good Antonio look he keep his day. 
Or he shall pay for this. 
Now, what news on the Rialto ? 

Solar. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd, that Antonio hath a ship 
of rich lading wreck'd on the narrow seas ; the Goodwins, I think 
they call the place ; a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the car- 
cases of m.any a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip report 
be an honest w^oman of her word. 

Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that, as ever knaf)i'M 
ginger, or made her neighbors believe she w^ept for the death « { a 
third husband : But it is true, — without any slips ot prolixity, o? 
crossing the plain highway of talk, — that the good Antonio^ the 

honest Antonio, O that I had a title good enough to keep his 

name company ! — 

Solar. Come, the full stop. 

Salan. Ha, — what say'st thou ? — Why the end is he hath lost a 
ship. 

Salar. I would it might prove the end of his losses ! 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 247 

Salan. Let me say amen betimes. lest the devil cross my prayer; 
for here he com-es in the likeness of a Jew. — 

Enter Shtlock. 

How now. Shylock ? what news among the merchants ? 

Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as you, of my daugh- 
ter's flight. 

Solar. That's certain ; I, for my part, knew the tailor that made 
the wings she flew withal. 

Solan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was fledg'd ; 
and then it is the complexion of them all to leave the dam. 

Shy. She is damn'd for it. 

Solar. That's certain, if the devil may be her judge. 

Shy. My own flesh and blood to rebel ! 

Salon. Out upon it, old carrion ! rebels it at these j^ears ? 

Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. 

Solar. There is more diflerence between thy flesh and hers, than 
between jet and ivory ; more between your bloods, than there is be- 
tween red wine and rhenish : But tell us, do you hear whether 
Antonio have had any loss at sea or no ? 

Shy. There I have another bad match : a bankrupt, a prodigal, 
who dare scarce show his head on the Rialto ; — a beggar, that used 
to come so smug upon the mart ; let him look to his bond : he was 
wont to call me usurer ; — let him look to his bond ! he was wont to 
lend money for a Christian courtesy ! — let him look to his bond. 

Solar. Whv, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his flesh ; 
What's that good for ? ' 

Shy. To bait flsh withal : if it will feed nothing else, it Vvill feed 
my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me of half a 
million ; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my na- 
tion, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies ; 
and what's his reason ? I am a Jevv' : Hath not a Jew eyes ? hath 
not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, aflections, passions ? 
fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the 
same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the 
same winter and summer, as a Christian is ? if you prick us, do we 
not bleed ? if you tickle us, do we not laugh ? if you poison us, do 
we not die ? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge ? if we are 
like 5'ou in the rest, we vrill resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong 
a Christian, what is his humility ? revenge ; If a Christian wrong a 
Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example ? why, re- 
venge. The villany you teach me, I will execute ; and it shall go 
hard, but I will better the instruction. 

Enter Tubal. 

Solan. Here comes another of the tribe ; a third cannot be matched, 
unless the denl himself turn Jew. [Exeunt Sal an. cf' Salar. 

Shy. How now, Tubal, what news from Genoa '? hast thou found 
my daughter ? 



248 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her. 

Shy. Why there, there, there, there ! a diamond gone, cost mt 
two thousand ducats in Frankfort ! The curse never fell upon oui 
nation till now ! I never felt it till now ; — two thousand ducats ii 
that ; and other precious, precious jewels. — I w^ould my daughtei 
were dead at my foot, and the jew^els in her ear ! \vould she were 
hears'd at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin ! No news of them ? 
— Why, so : — and I know not what's spent in the search : W^hy, 
thou loss upon loss ! the thief gone with so much, and so much to 
find the thief ; and no satisfaction, no revenge : nor no ill luck stir- 
ring, but what lights o' my shoulders ; no sighs, but o* my breath- 
ing ; no tears, but o' my shedding. 

Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too ; Antonio, as I heard in 
Genoa, — 

Sliy. What, what, what ? ill luck, ill luck ? 

Tub, — hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis. 

Shy. I thank Heaven, I thank Heaven :— Is it true, is it true ? 

Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck. 

Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal ; — Good news, good news : ha ! 
ha ! — Where ? in Genoa ? 

Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one night, four- 
score ducats ! 

Shy. Thou stick'st a dagger in me : 1 shall never see my gold 

again : Fourscore ducats at a sitting ! fourscore ducats ! 

Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my company to 
Venice, that swear he cannot choose but break. 

Shy. I am very glad of it : I'll plague him ; I'll torture him ; I am 
glad of it. 

Tub. One of them showed me a ring, that he had of your daughter 
for a monkey. 

Shy. Out upon her I Thou torturest me. Tubal : it w^as my tur- 
quoise ; I had it of Leah, when I w^as a bachelor : I w^ould not have 
given it for a wilderness of monkeys. 

Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. 

Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true : Go, Tubal, fee me an 
officer, bespeak him a fortnight before : I will have the heart of him, 
if he forfeit ; for w^ere he out of Venice, I can make what merchan- 
dise I will : Go, go. Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue ; go, good 
Tubal ; at our synagogue. Tubal. [Exeunt. 

SCENE n. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 

Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa, and Attendants. 

The caskets are set out. 

For. I pray you, tarry ; pause a day or two, 
Before you hazard ; for, in choosing wrong, 
I lose your company ; therefore, forbear a w^hile : 
There's something tells me, (but it is not love,) 
I wonld not 1o;-t» vou ; and von know vourself. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 249 

Hate counsels not in such a quality : 

I could teach you 

How to choose right, but then I am forsworn ; 

So will I never be : so may you miss me ; 

But if you do, you'll make me \\'ish a sin, 

That Thad been forsworn. 

Bass. Let me choose ; 

For, as I am, I live upon the rack. 

Por. Upon the rack, Bassanio ? then confess 
What treason there is mingled Vv'ith your love. 

Bass. None, but that ugly treason of mistrust, 
Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love ; 
There may as well be amity and life 
'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. 

Por. Ay, but I fear, you speak upon the rack. 
WTiere men enforced do speak any thing. 

Bass. Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth. 

Por. Well then, confess, and live. 

Bass. Confess, and love, 

Had been the very sum of my confession : 
O happy torment, when my torturer 

Doth teach me answers for deliverance ! ^ 

But let me to my fortune and the caskets. 

Por. Away then : I am lock'd in one of them ; 
If you do love me, you will find me out. — 
Nerissa, and the rest, stand all aloof. — 
Let music sound, Vv'hile he doth make his choice ; 
Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-Uke end, 
Fading in music. 

Music, whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets to himself. 
SONG. \. Tell me ivhere is fancy bred, 

Or in the heart, or in the head ? 
How begot, how nourished ? 
Reply. 2. It is engendered in the eyes, 

With gazing fed : and fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies : 

Let us all ring fane fs knell; 
ril begin it, Ding, dong, bell. 
All. Di^igi dong, bell. 

Bass. Some good direct my judgment I — Let me see. — 
" Who chooseth me, shall gain ichat many men desire.^'' 

[Looks at the golden casket. 
That may be meant 

Of the fool multitude, that choose by show : 
The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. 
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, 
But, being season'd with a gracious voice, 
Obscures the show of evil ? In religion, 

12* ^ '^ 



250 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

What dangerous error, but some sober brow 

Will bless it, and approve it with a text, 

Hiding the grossness with fair ornament ? 

There is no vice so simple, but assumes 

Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. 

How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false 

As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chin 

The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars : 

Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk ? 

And these assume but valor's countenance. 

To render them redoubted. Look on beauty, 

And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight ; 

Which therein works a miracle in nature, 

Making them Hghtest that wear most of it : 

Thus ornament is but the guiled shore 

To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scarf 

Veiling an Indian beauty ; in a word, 

The seeming truth which cunning times put on 

To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold. 

Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee : 

" Who cliooseth me shall get as much as he deserves. "^^ 

f [Looks at the silver casket 

nd well said, too ; for who shall go about 
To cozen fortune, and be honorable 
Without the stamp of merit ? 
Oh, that estates, degrees, and offices. 
Were not derived corruptly ! and that clear honor 
Were purchased by the merit of the wearer ! 
How many then should cover, that stand bare ? 
How many be commanded, that command ? 
And how much honor. 
Picked from the chaff and ruin of the times. 
To be new varnished ? — " Much as he deserves.^^ — 
I'll not assume desert. — 
" Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.^^ 

[Looks at the leaden casket. 
I'll none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 
'Tween man and man : but thou, thou meagre lead, 
Which rather threat'nest, than doth promise aught, 
Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence. 
And here choose I ; Joy be the consequence ! 
Por. How all the other passions fleet to air. 
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair, 
And shudd'ring fear, and green-ey'd jealousy. 

love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy, 

In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess ; 

1 feel too much thy blessing, make it less. 
For fear T surfeit ! 

Bass. What find I here ? [Opening the leaden casket. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 251 

Fair Portia's counterfeit ? What demi-god 
Hath come so near creation ? Here's the scroll, 
The continent and summary of my fortune. 

You that choose not by the view, 
Chance as fair, and choose as true! 
Since this fortune falls to you, 
Be content, and seek no new. 
If you be well fleas^d with this, 
And hold your fortune for your bliss, 
Turn you where your lady is, 
And claim her with a loving kiss, 

A gentle scroll ; — Fair lady, by your leave : 

I come by note, to give and to receive. [^Kissing her. 

As doubtful whether what T see be true, 

Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you. 

Por. You see me, lord Bassanio, where I stand, 
Such as I am : though, for myself alone, 
I would not be ambitious in my wish, 
To wish myself much better ; yet, for j^ou, 
I would be trebled twenty times myself; 
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times 
More rich ; 

That only to stand high on your account, 
I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, 
Exceed account : but the full sum of me 
Is sum of something ; which, to term in gross. 
Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd : 
Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
But she may learn ; and happier than this, 
She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; 
Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit 
Commits itself to yours to be directed. 
As from her lord, her governor, her king. 
Myself, and what is mine, to you, and yours 
Is now converted : but now I was the lord 
Of this fair mansion, master of my serv^ants, 
Queen o'er myself ; and even now, but now, 
This house, these servants, and this same myself. 
Are yours, my lord. 

Bass. Madam., you have bereft me of all words, 
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins. 

Ner. My lord and lady, it is, now our time, 
That have stood by, and seen our wishes prosper, 
To cry, good joy ; Good joy, my lord and lady ! 

Gra. My lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady, 
I wish you all the joy that you can wnsh ; 
For I am sure, you can wish none from me : 
And. when your honors mean to solemnize 



252 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you, 
Even at that time I may be married too. 

Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. 

Gra. I thank your lordship ; you have got m.e one. 
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours : 
You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid ; 
You lov'd. I lov'd ; for intermission 
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. 
Your fortune stood upon the caskets there ; 
And so did mine too, as the matter falls : 
For wooing here, until I sweat again ; 
And swearing, till my very roof was dry 
With oaths of love ; at last, — if promise last, — 
I got a promise of this fair one here. 
To have her love, provided that your fortune 
Achiev'd her mistress. 

Por. Is this true, Nerissa ? 

N0r. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. 

Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith ? 

G?^a. Yes, faith, my lord. 

Bass. Our feast shall be much honor'd in your marriage. 

Lorenzo, Jessica and Salanio, bring a Letter from Antonio to Bassanio, acquaint- 
ing him with his losses, and that the Bond to the Jew is forfeited. Bassanio is struck 
with horror at the tidisgs, and determines to leave Portia and proceed immediately to his 
friend ; Portia insists that the marriage ceremony between them, shall be first solemnized, 
and furnishes him with money more than sufficient to discharge the Bond. 

After the departure of Bassanio and his friends, Portia determines to follow them, and 
assist in saving Antonio from the Jew's malignity. She writes to her cousin Bellario, 
who is a Doctor of Law, and requests his advice on the nature of the Bond given by An- 
tonio ; fortified with Bellario's opinion, she goes to Venice, where assuming the disguise 
of a Doctor of Law, or Counsellor, with Nerissa as her clerk, she attends tlie Trial of the 
Merchant. 

ACT IV. 

We are now introduced to the catastrophe of this magnificent Drama — the Trial 
Scene ; — and taken as an isolated Scene, it stands perhaps the most perfect piece of com- 
position to be found in the whole range of Dramatic writing. 

SCENE I. — Venice. A Court of Justice. 

Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes ; Antonio, Bassanio, Gratiano, 
Salarino, Salanio, and others, 

Duke. What, is Antonio here ? 

Ant. Ready, so please your grace. 

Duke. I am sorry for thee : thou art come to answer 
A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch 
Uncapable of pity, void and empty 
From any dram of mercy. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 253 

Ant. I have heard 

Your grace has ta'en great pains to qualify 
His rigorous course ; but since he stands obdurate, 
And that no lawful means can carry me 
Out of his emy's reach, I do oppose 
My patience to his fury ; and am arm'd 
To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, 
The very tyranny and rage of his. 

Duke, Go one, and call the Jew into the court. 

Solan, He's ready at the door : he comes, my lord. 

Enter Shylock. 

Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our face.— 
Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too. 
That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice 
To the last hour of act ; and then, 'tis thought, 
Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse, more strange 
Than is thy strange apparent cruelty : 
And where thou now exact'st the penalty, 
(Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,) 
Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture, 
But touch'd with human gentleness and love. 
Forgive a moiety of the principal ; 
Glancing an eye of pity on his losses 
That have of late so huddled on his back, 
Enough to press a royal merchant down, 
And pluck commiseration of his state 
From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint, 
From stubborn Turks, and Tartars, never train'd 
To offices of tender courtesy. 
We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. 

Shy. I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose ; 
And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn, 
To have the due and forfeit of my bond : 
If you deny it, let the danger light 
Upon your charter, and your city's freedom. 
You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have 
A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive 
Three thousand ducats : I'll not answer that : 
But, say, it is my humor ; Is it answer 'd ? 
What if my house be troubled with a rat. 
And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats 
To have it ban'd ? What, are you answer'd yet ? 
Some men there are, love not a gaping pig ; 
Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat : 
As there is no firm reason to be rendered, 
Why he cannot abide a gaping pig ; 
Why he, a harmless necessarv cat ; 
So can I give no reason, nor T will not, 



254 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

More than a lodg'd hate, and a certain loathing, 

I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 

A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd ? 

Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeUng man, 
To excuse the current of thy cruelty. 

Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my answer. 

Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love ? 

Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill ? 

Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first. 

Shy. What, would'st thou have a serpent sting thee twice ? 

AnL I pray you, think you question with the Jew : 
You may as well go stand upon the beach, 
And bid the main flood bate his usual height ; 
You may as well use question with the wolf, 
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ; 
You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
To wag their high tops, and to make no noise, 
When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven ; 
You may as well do any thing most hard. 
As seek to soffen that (than w^hich what's harder ?) 
His Jewish heart : — Therefore, I do beseech you, 
Make no more offers, use no further means. 
But, with all brief and plain conveniency, 
Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. 

Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. 

Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats. 
Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, 
I would not draw them, T would have my bond. 

Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring none ? 

Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong ? 
You have among you many a purchas'd slave. 
Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and mules. 
You use in abject and in slavish parts. 
Because you bought them : — Shall I say to you, 
Let them be free, marry them to your heirs ? 
Why sweat they under burdens ? let their beds 
Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates 
Be season'd with such viands ? You will answer, 
The slaves are ours : — So do I answer you ; 
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him, 
Is dearly bought, 'tis mine, and I will have it : 
If you deny me, fye upon your law ! 
There is no force in tlie decrees of Venice : 
I stand for judgment : answer ; shall I have it ? 

Duke. Upon my power, I may dismiss this court, ■ 5 

Unless Bellario, a learned doctor, I f" 

Whom I have sent for to determine this, I ^ 

Come here to-day. 

Salar. My lord, here stays without 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 255 

A messenger with letters from the doctor, 
New come from Padua. 

Duke, Bring us the letters ; call the messenger. 

Bass. Good cheer, Antonio I What, man ? courage yet ! 
The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all, 
Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. 

Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock, 
Meetest for death ; the weakest kind of fruit 
Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me : 
You cannot better be employed, Bassanio, 
Than to live still, and write mine epitaph. 

Enter Nerissa, dressed like a lawyer's clerk. 

Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario ? 

Ner. From both, my lord : Bellario greets your grace. 

\^P resents a letter, 

Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly ? 

Sliy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there. 

Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, 
Thou mak'st thy knife keen : but no metal can. 
No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness 
Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee ? 

Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. 

Gra. O, be thou curs'd, inexorable dog ! 
And for thy life let justice be accus'd. 
Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith, 
To hold opinion with Pythagoras, 
That souls of animals infuse themselves 
Into the trunks of men : thy currish spirit 
Govern"d a wolf, for thy desires 
Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous. 

Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from ofl* my bond, 
Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud : 
Repair thy wit, good youth ; or it will fall 
To cureless ruin. I stand here for law. 

Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend 
A young and learned doctor to our court : — 
Where is he ? 

Ner. He attendeth here hard by, 

To know your answer, whether you'll admit him. 

Duke. With all my heart : — some three or four of you, 
Go give him courteous conduct to this place. — 
Meantime, the court shall hear Bellario's letter. 

[Clerk reads.'] — Your grace shall understand, that, at the receipt 
of your letter. I am very sick: but in the instant that your messenger 
came, in loving visitation was ivith me a yoting doctor of Rome, his 
name is Balihasar : I acquainted him icith the cause in controversy 
leticeen the Jeic and Antonio the merchant : we turn'^d o^er many books 
together: he is furnish'd with my opiniov ; 21'Jiich, better'd with his 



1 



256 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

own learning, (the greatness whereof I cannot enough commend,) 
comes with him, at my importunity, to fill up your grace* s request in 
my stead. I beseech you, let his lack of years he no impediment to let 
him lack a reverend estimation ; for I never knew so young a body 
vnth so old a head. I leave him to your gracious acceptance^ whose 
trial shall better publish his commendation. 

Duke. You hear the learned Bellario, what he writes : 
And here, I take it, is the doctor come. — 

Enter Portia, dressed like a doctor of laws. 

Give me your hand : Came you from old Bellario ? 

For. I did, my lord. 

Duke. You are welcome : take your place. 

Are you acquainted with the difference 
That holds this present question in the court ? 

Por. I am informed thoroughly of the cause. 
Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew ? 

Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth ! 

Por. Is your name Shylock ? 

Shy. Shylock is my name. 

Por. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow ; 
Yet in such a rule, that the Venetian law 
Cannot impugn you, as you do proceed. — 
You stand within his danger, do you not ? \_To Antonio 

Ant. Ay, so he says. 

Por. Do you confess the bond ? 

Ant. I do. 

Por. Then must the Jew be merciful. 

Shy. On what compulsion must I ? tell me that. 

Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd ; 
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless'd ; 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : ^ 

'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown ; 
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
The attribute to awe and majesty, 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
But mercy is above this scepter'd sway, 
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
It is an attribute to God himself ; 
And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this — 
That in the course of justice, none of us 
Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ; 
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 257 

To mitigate tjie justice of thy plea ; 

Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice 

Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. 

Shy. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law, 
The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

Par. Is he not able to discharge the money ? 

Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court : 
Yea, thrice the sum : if that will not suffice, 
I will be bound to pay it ten times, o'er, 
On forfeit of ray hands, my head, my heart : 
If this will not suffice, it must appear 
That mahce bears down truth. And I beseech you, 
Wrest once the law to your authority : 
To do a great right do a little wrong ; 
And curb this cruel devil of his will. 

Por. It must not be ; there is no power in Venice 
Can alter a decree estabhshed : 
'Twill be recorded for a precedent ; 
And many an error, by the same example, 
Will rush into the state : it cannot be. 

Shy. A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel ! 
O wise young judge, how do I honor thee ! 

Por. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 

Shy. Here it is, most reverend doctor, here it is. 

Por. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee. 

Shy. An oath, an oath, I have .an oath in heaven : 
Shall I lay perjury upon my soun 
No, not for Venice. 

Por. Why, this bond is forfeit ; 

And lawfully by this the Jew m.ay claim 
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut oflF 
Nearest the merchant's heart : — Be merciful ; 
Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond. 

Shy. When it is paid according to the tenor. — 
It doth appear, you are a worthy judge ; 
You know the law, your exposition 
Hath been most sound : I diarge you by the law. 
Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar. 
Proceed to judgment : by my soul I swear, 
There is no power in the tongue of man 
To alter me : I stay here on my bond. 

Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court 
To give the judgment. 

Por. Why then, thus it is. 

You must prepare your bosom for his knife. 

Shy. O noble judge ! O excellent young man ! 

Por. For the intent and purpose of the law 
Hath full relation to the penalty. 
Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 



k 



258 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Shy. 'Tis very true : O wise and upright judge ! 
How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 

Por. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. 

Shy. Ay, his breast : 

So says the bond ; — Doth it not, noble judge ? — 
Nearest his heart, those are the very words. 

Por. It is so. Are there balance here, to weigh 
The flesh ? 

Shy. I have them ready. 

Po7\ Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, 
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 

Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond ? 

Por. It is not so express'd ; But what of that ? 
'Twere good you do so much for charity. 

Shy. I cannot find it ; 'tis not in the bond. 

Por. Come, merchant, have you any thing to say ? 

Ant. But little ; I am arm'd, and well prepar'd. — 
Give me your hand, Bassanio ; fare you well ! 
Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you ; 
For herein fortune shows herself more kind 
Than is her custom : it is still her use, 
To let the wretched man out-live his wealth, 
To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow, 
An age of poverty ; from which lingering penance 
Of such a misery doth she cut me off. 
Commend me to your honorable wife : 
Tell her the process of Antonio's end. 
Say, how I loved you, speak me fair in death ; 
And. when the tale is told, bid her be judge. 
Whether Bassanio had not once a love. 
Repent not you that you shall lose your friend, 
And he repents not that he pays your debt ; 
For. if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 
I'll pay it instantly with all my heart. 

Bass. Antonio, I am married to a wife, 
Which is as dear to me as life itself ; 
But life itself, my wife, and all the world,* 
Are not with me esteem'd above thy life : 
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 
Here to this devil, to deliver you. 

Por. Your wife would give you. little thanks for that 
If she were by, to hear you make the offer. 

Gra. I have a wife, whom, I protest I love ; 
I would she were in heaven, so she could 
Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. 

Ner. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back ; 
The wish would make else an unquiet house. 

Shy. These be the Christian husbands : I have a daughter ; 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 259 

'Would, any of the stock of Bairabas 

Had been her husband, rather than a Christian ! [Aside. 

We trifle time ; I pray thee, pursue sentence. 

Po?\ A pound of that same merchant's flesh ie thine, 
The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 

Shy. Most rightful judge ! 

Por. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast ; 
The law allows it, and the court awards it. 

Shy. Most learned judge ! — A sentence ; come, prepare. 

Por. Tarry a little ; — there is som^ething else. — 
This bond dolh give thee here no jot of blood ; 
The words expressly are a pound of flesh : 
Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh ; 
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 
Unto the state of Venice. 

Gra. O upright judge ! — Mark, Jew ; — O learned judge ! 

Shy. Is that the law ? 

Par. Thyself shall see the act ; 

For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd. 
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st. 

Gra. O learned judge ! — Mark, Jew ; — a learned judge ! 

Shy. T take this ofler then, — pay the bond thrice, 
And let the Christian go. 

Bass. Here is the money. 

Por. Soft; 
The Jew shall have all justice ; — soft ; — no haste ; — 
He shall have nothing but the penalty. 

Gra. O Jew ! an upright judge, a learned judge ! 

Por. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh. 
Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor more. 
But just a pound of flesh : if thou tak'st more, 
Or less, than a just pound, — be it but so much 
As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance, 
Or the division of the twentieth part 
Of one poor scruple : nay, if the scale do turn 
But in the estimation of a hair, — 
Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. 

Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew ! 
Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. 

Por. Why doth the Jew pause ? take thy forfeiture. 

Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. 

Bass. I have it ready for thee ; here it is. 

Por. He hath refusM it in the open court ; 
He shall have merely justice, and his bond. 

Gra. A Daniel, still say I ; a second Daniel ! — 
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 

Shy. Shall I not have barely my principal ? 



L 



260 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

For. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, 
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 

Shy. Why then the devil give him good of it : 
I'll stay no longer question. 

Por. Tarry, Jew , 

The lav^ hath yet another hold on you. 
It is enacted in the laws of Venice, — 
If it be prov'd against an alien, 
That by direct, or indirect attempts. 
He seek the life of any citizen. 
The party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive, 
Shall seize one half his goods ; the other half 
Comes to the privy coffer of the state ; 
And the offender's life hes in the mercy 
Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st : 
For it appears by manifest proceeding, 
That, indirectly, and directly too. 
Thou hast contriv'd against the very life 
Of the defendant ; and thou hast incurr'd 
The danger formerly by me rehears'd. 
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. 

Gra. Beg that thou may'st have leave to hang thyself: 
And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state. 
Thou hast not left the value of a cord ; 
Therefore, thou must be hang'd at the state's charge. 

Duke. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit, 
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it : 
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's ; 
The other half comes to the general state, 1 

Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. 

Por. Ay, for the state ; not for Antonio. 

Shy. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that : 
You take my house, when you do take the prop 
That doth sustain my house ; you take my life. 
When you do take the means w^hereby I live. 

Por. What mercy can you render him, Antonio ? 

Gra. A halter gratis ; nothing else ; for Heaven's sake. 

Ant. So please my lord the duke, and all the court. 
To quit the fine for one half of his goods ; 
I am content, so he will let me have 
The other half in use, — to render it, 
Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
That lately stole his daughter ; 
Two things provide:! more, — That for this favor, 
He presently become a Christian ; 
The other, that he do record a gift. 
Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd 
Unto his son Lorenzo, and his daughter. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 261 

Duke. He shall do this ; or else I do recant 
The pardon, that I late pronounced here. 

Por, Art thou contented, Jew, what dost thou say ? 

Shy, I am content. 

Por. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 

Sliy. I pray you give me leave to go from hence : 
I am not well ; send the deed after me, 
And I will sign it. 

Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. 

Gra. In christening, thou shalt have two godfathers ; 
Had I been judge, thou should'st have had ten more. 
To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. [^Exit Shylock. 

Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. 

Por. I humbly do desire your grace of pardon ; 
I must away this night toward Padua, 
And it is meet, I presently set forth. 

Duke. I am sorry, that your leisure serves not. 
Antonio, gratify this gentleman ; 
For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. 

[Exeunt Duke, Magnificoes, and Train. 

The interest of the Play ends with the delivery of Antonio, and the punishment of 
Shylock ; the fifth Act is occupied in explanations which naturally follow between the 
leading characters, growing out of the disguises assumed by Portia and Nerissa. 



k 



KING LEAE. 



"The story of King Lear and his three daughters, is found in HoHnshed's Chronicle ; 
and was originally told by Geoffry of Monmouth, who says that Lear was the eldest son 
of Bladud, and ' nobly governed his country for sixty years.' According to that his- 
torian, he died about 800 years before Christ. Shakspeare has taken the hint for the 
behavior of the steward, and the reply of Cordelia to her father concerning her future mar- 
riage, from the Mirror of JMagistrates , 1587. According to Steevens, the episode of 
Gloster and his sons is borrowed from Sidney's Arcadia.^^ 

Macbeth, Othello, Hamlet, and Lear, are placed by general consent as first in the list 
of Shakspeare's inspired creations, but to the character of Lear, is yielded the pre-eminence. 

It is perhaps the most wonderful dramatic conception on record. We have en- 
deavored to incorporate into our selections, the entire development of this extraordinary 
creation. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Lear, King of Britain. 
King of France. 
Duke of Burgundy. 
Duke of Cornwall. 
Duke of Albany. 
Earl of Kent. 
Earl of Gloster. 
Edgar, son to Gloster. 
Edmund, illegitimate son to Gloster. 
CuRAN, a courtier. 
Old Man, tenant to Gloster. 
Physician. Fool. 
Oswald, steward to Goneril. 
An Officer employed by Edmund. 
Gentleman, attendant on Cordelia. 

A Herald. Servants to Cornwall. ^^mLn 

Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, daughters to Lear. ^Mi 

Knights attending on the King, Officers, Messengers, Soldiers and 
Attendants. 
SCENE,-~Britain. 



KING LEAR. 263 



ACT I. 



SCENE I.— A RooTii of State in King Lear's Palace. 

Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, 
and Attendants. 

Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloster. 

Glo. I shall, my hege. [Exit Gloster & EDMrND 

Lear. Mean-time we shall express our darker purpose. 
Give me the map there. — Know, that we have divided, 
In three, our kingdom : and 'tis our fast intent 
To shake all cares and business from our age ; 
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we 
Unburdened crawl toward death. — Our son of Cornwall, 
And you, our no less losing son of Albany, 
We have this hour a constant will to publish 
Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife 
May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy, 
Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, 
Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, 
And here are to be answer'd. — Tell me, my daughters, 
(Since now we will divest us, both of rule. 
Interest of territory, cares of state.) 
Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most ? 
That we our largest bounty may extend 
Where merit doth most challenge it. — Goneril, 
Our eldest-born, speak first. 

Gon. Sir, I 

Do love you more than words can wield the matter, 
Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty ; 
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare ; 
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honor : 
As much as child e'er iov'd, or father found. 
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable ; 
Beyond all manner of so much I love you. 

Cor. What shall Cordelia do ? Love, and be silent. [Aside 

Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line to this. 
With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd, 
With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, 
We make thee lady : To thine and Albany's issue 
Be this perpetual. — What says our second daughter, 
Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall ? Speak. 

Reg. I am made of that self metal as my sister, 
And prize me at her worth. In my true heart 
I find, she names my very deed of love ; 
Only she comes too short, — tliat I profess 
Myself an enemy to all other joys, 
Which the most precious square of sense possesses ; 



264 SHAKSPEARIAN HEADER. 

And find, I am alone felicitate 
In your dear highness' love. 

Cor. Then poor Cordelia ! [Aside. 

And yet not so ; since, I am sure, my love's 
More richer than my tongue. 

Lear. To thee, and thine, hereditary ever. 
Remains this ample third of our fair kingdom ; 
No less in space, validity, and pleasure, 
Than that confirm'd on Goneril. — Now, our joy, 
Although the last, not least ; to whose young love 
The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy, 
Strive to be interess'd ; what can you say, to draw 
A third more opulent than your sisters ? Speak. 

Cor. Nothing, my lord. 

Lear. Nothing? 

Cor. Nothing. 

Lear. Nothing can come of nothing : speak again. 

Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave 
My heart into my mouth : I love your majesty 
According to my bond ; nor more, nor less. 

Lear. How, how, Cordelia ? mend your speech a little, 
Lest it may mar your fortunes. 

Cor. Good my lord, 

You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me : I 
Return those duties back as are right fit, 
Obey you, love you, and most honor you. 
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say 
They love you, all ? Haply, when I shall wed, 
That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry 
Half my love with him, half my care, and duty ! 
Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, 
To love my father all. 

Lear. But goes this with thy heart ? 

Cor. Ay, good my lord. 

Lear. So young, and so untender ? 

Cor. So young, my lord, and true. 

Lear. Let it be so, — Thy truth then be thy dower : ff 

For, by the sacred radiance of the sun ; |l 

The mysteries of Hecate, and the night ; 
By all the operations of the orbs, 
From whom we do exist, and cease to be ; 
Here I disclaim all my paternal care. 
Propinquity and property of blood, 
And as a stranger to my heart and me 
Hold thee, from this, for ever. 

Kent. Good my liege, — 

Lear. Peace, Kent ! 
Come not between the dragon and his wrath : 
I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest 



KING LEAR. 265 

On her kind nursery. — Hence, and avoid my sight ! 

So be my grave my peace, as here I give [To Cordelia 

Her father's heart from her ! — Call France ; — Who stirs ? 

Call Burgundy. — Cornwall, and Albany, 

With my two daughters' dowers digest this third : 

Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. 

I do invest you jointly with my power, 

Pre-eminence, and all the large effects 

That troop with majesty. — Ourself, by monthly course, 

With reservation of an hundred knights. 

By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode 

Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain 

The name, and all the additions to a king ; 

The sway, revenue, execution of the rest, 

Beloved sons, be yours : which to confirm, 

This coronet part between you. [Giving the crown, 

Kent. Royal Lear, 

Whom I have ever honor'd as my king, 
Lov'd as my father, as my master foUow'd, 
As my great patron thought on in my prayers, — 

Lear, The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft. 

Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade 
The region of my heart : be Kent unmannerly, 
W^hen Lear is mad. What would'st thou do, old man ? 
Think'st thou, that duty shall have dared to speak. 
When power to flattery bows ? To plainness honor's bound, 
When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom ; 
And, in thy best consideration, check 
This hideous rashness : answer my life my judgment. 
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least ; 
Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sound 
Reverbs no hollo wness. 

Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more. 

Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn 
To wage against thine enemies ; nor fear to lose it, 
Thy safety being the motive. 

Lear, Out of my sight ! 

Kent. See better, Lear ; and let me still remain 
The true blank of thine eye. 

Lear, Now, by Apollo, — 

Kent, Now, by Apollo, king, 

rhou swear'st thy gods in vain. 

Lear, O, vassal ! miscreant ! 

[Laying his hand on his svxrrd. 

Alb, Corn. Dear sir, forbear. 

Kent. Do ; 
^1 thy physician, and the fee bestow 
Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift ; 

13 



266 SHAKSPEAitlAN READER. 

Or, whilst I can vent clamor from my throat, 

I'll tell thee thou dost evil. "^ ♦ 

Lear, Hear me, recreant ! 

On thine allegiance hear me ! — 
Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, 
(Which we durst never yet,) and, with strain'd pride, 
To come betwixt our sentence and our power ; 
(Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,) 
Our potency made good, take thy reward. 
Five days do we allot thee, for provision 
To shield thee from diseases of the world ; 
And, on the sixth, to turn thy hated back 
Upon our kingdom : if, on the tenth day following, 
Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions, 
The moment is thy death : Away ! by Jupiter, 
This shall not be revok'd. 

Kent. Fare thee well, king ; since thus thou wilt appear, 
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. — 
The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, [ To Cordelia. 

That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said ! — 
And your large speeches may your deeds approve, 

[To Regan and Goneril. 
That good effects may spring from words of love. — 
Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu : 
He'll shape his old course in a country new. \^ExiL 

Re-enter Gloster : with France, Burgundy, and Attendants. 

Glo. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord. 

Lear. My lord of Burgundy, 
We first address towards you, who with this king 
Hath rivall'd for our daughter ; What, in the least, 

Will you require in present dower with her, I 

Or cease your quest of love ? I J 

Bur. Most royal majesty, I 

I crave no more than hath your highness offer'd, 1 1 

Nor will you tender less. 1 1 

Lear. Right noble Burgundy, 1 11 

When she was dear to us, we did hold her so ; 1 11 

But nov7 her price is fall'n : Sir, there she stands ; 1 4Ji 

If aught within that little, seeming substance, I Si 

Or all of it, with our displeasure piec'd, I j 

And nothing more may fitly like your grace, liijr 

She's there, and she is yours. 1^ 

Bur. I know no answer. IDi^ 

Lear. Sir, I ]^ 

Will you, with those infirmities she owes, I % 

Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, | \ 

Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath, ' " 
Take her, or leave her ? 



i 



KING LEAR. 267 

Bur. Pardon me, royal sir ; 

Election makes not up on such conditions. 

Lear. Then leave her, sir ; for, by the power that made me, 
I tell you all her wealth. — For you, great king, [To France. 

I would not from your love make such a stray. 
To match you where I hate ; therefore beseech you 
To avert your liking a more worthier way, 
Than on a wretch w^hom nature is asham'd 
Almost to acknowledge hers. 

France. This is most strange ! 

That she, that even but now was your best object, 
The argument of your praise, balm of your age, 
Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time 
Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle 
So many folds of favor ! Sure, her offence 
Must be of such unnatural degree, 
That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection 
Fall into taint : which to believe of her. 
Must be a faith, that reason without miracle 
Could never plant in me. 

Cor. I yet beseech your majesty, 

(If for I want that glib and oily art, 
To speak, and purpose not ; since what I well intend, 
rU do't before I speak,) that you make known 
It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, 
No unchaste action, or dishonor 'd step. 
That hath deprived me of your grace and favor : 
But even for want of that, for which I am richer ; 
A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue 
That I am glad I have not, though not to have it, 
Hath lost me in your liking. 

Lear. Better thou 

Hadst not been born, than not to have pleas'd me better. 

France. Is it but this ? a tardiness in nature, 
Which often leaves the history unspoke. 
That it intends to do ? — My lord of Burgundy, 
What say you to the lady ? Love is not love 
When it is mingled with respects, that stand 
Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her ? 
She is herself a dowry. 

Bur. Royal Lear, 

Give but that portion which yourself propos'd. 
And here I take Cordelia by the hand. 
Duchess of Burgundy. ^ 

Lear. Nothing : I have sworn ; I am firm. 

Bur. I am sorry then, you have so lost a father, 
That you must lose a husband. 

Cor. Peace be with Burgundy I 



268 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Since that respects of fortune are his love, w- 

I shall not be his wife. 

France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor ; 
Most choice, forsaken ; and most lov'd, despis'd ! 
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon : 
Be it lawful, I take up what's cast away. 
Gods, gods ! 'tis strange, that from their cold'st neglect 
My love should kindle to inflam'd respect. — 
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, 
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France : 
Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy 
Shall buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me. — 
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind ; 
Thou losest here, a better where to find. 

Lear. Thou hast her, France : let her be thine ; for we 
Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see 
That face of hers again : — Therefore be gone, 
Without our grace, our love, our benison. 
Come, noble Burgundy. 

{Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Cornwall, Albany, 

Gloster, and Attendants 

France. Bid farewell to your sisters. 

Cor, The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes 
Cordelia leaves you : I know you what you are ; 
And, like a sister, am most loath to call 
Your faults as they are nam'd. Use well our father : 
To your professed bosoms I commit him : 
But yet, alas ! stood I within his grace, 
I would prefer him to a better place. 
So farewell to you both. 

Gon. Prescribe not us our duties. 

R^g' Let your study 

Be, to content your lord ; who hath receiv'd you 
At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted. 
And well are worth the want that you have wanted. 

Cor. Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides ; 
Who covers faults, at last shame them derides. 
Well may you prosper ! 

France. Come, my fair Cordelia. 

\^Exeunt France and Cordelia. 

Confining ourselves to the main incidents connected with the story of Lear, — his 
wrongs and sufferings,— we are necessarily compelled to omit much of the under plot 
of this Play, in which Shakspeare introduces, as a counterpart to Lear suffering under the 
ingratitude of his children, Edgar, the son of Gloster, as a pattern of filial piety and 
love, unjustly persecuted by his father. Gloster is persuaded by the machinations of 
Edmund, to believe that Edgar seeks his life. \ 

The next scene we extract, introduces Kent in the disguise of a Peasant, under the | a 
name of Cams, seeking to engage himself in the service of the King, whom he fears will | , 
?je improperly treated by Regan and Goneril, 



i 



KING LEAR. 269 

SCENE IV.— A Hall in the Duke of Albany's Palace, 

Enter Kent, disguised. 
Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow, 
"That can my speech diffuse, my good intent 
May carry through itself to that full issue 
For which 1 raz'd my hkeness. — Now, banish'd Kent. 
If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd, 
(So may it come !) thy master, whom thou lov'st, 
Shall find thee full of'labors. 

Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights, and Attendants. 

Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner ; go, get it ready. — \^Exit 
an Attendant.] — How now, what art thou ? 

Kent. A man, sir. 

Lear. What dost thou profess ? What would'st thou with us ? 

Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem ; to serye him truly, 
that will put me in trust ; to loye him that is honest ; to converse 
with him that is wise, and says Httle ; to fear judgment ; to fight, 
when I cannot choose ; and to eat no fish. 

Lear. What art thou ? 

Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king. 

Lear, if thou be as poor for a subject, as he is for a king, thou art 
poor enough. What would'st thou ? 

Kent. Service, 

Lear. Who would'st thou serve ? 

Kent. You. 

Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow ? 

Kent. No, sir ; but you have that in your countenance, which I 
would fain call master. 

Lear. What's that ? 

Kent. Authority. 

Lear. What ser\-ices canst thou do ? 

Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in 
telling it, and deliver a plain message bluntly ; that which ordinary 
men are fit for, I am qualified in : and the best of me is dihgence. 

Lear. How old art thou ? 

Kent. Not so young, sir, to loye a woman for singing ; nor so old 
to dote on her for any thing : I have years on my back forty-eight. 

Lear. Follow me ; thou shalt serv^e me ; If I like thee no worse 
after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. — Dinner, ho, dinner. — 
Where's my knave ? my fool ? Go you, and call my fool hither ; 

Enter Steward. 
You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter ? 

Stew. So please you, — [Exit, 

Lear. What says the fellow there ? Call the clodpoll back. — 
Where's my fool, ho? — I think the world's asleep. — How now? 
Where's that mongrel ? 

Knight. He says, my lord, your daughter is not well. 



270 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Lear. Why came not the slave back to me when I called him ? 

Knight. Sir, he answer'd me in the roundest manner, he would 
not. 

Lear. He would not ! 

Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter is ; but, to my 
judgment, your highness is not entertain'd with that ceremonious 
affection as you were wont ; there's a great abatement of kindness 
appears, as well in the general dependants, as in tlie duke himself 
also, and your daughter. 

Lear. Ha ! say'st thou so? 

Knight. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken : for 
my duty cannot be silent, when I think your highness is wrong'd. 

Lear. Thou but remember'st me of mine own conception ; 1 have 
perceived a most faint neglect of late ; which I have rather blamed as 
mine own jealous curiosity, than as a very pretence and purpose of 
unkindness : I will further into't. — But where's my fool ? I have 
not seen him this two days. 

Knight. Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the fool 
hath much pined away. 

Lear. No more of that ; I have noted it well. — Go you, and tell 
my daughter I would speak with her. — Go you, call hither my 
fool. — 

Re-enter Steward. 
O, you sir, you sir, come you hither : Who am I, sir ? 

Stew. My lady's father. 

Lear. My lady's father ! my lord's knave : you dog ! you slave ! 
you cur ! 

Stew. I am none of this, my lord ; I beseech you, pardon me. 

Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal ? [Striking him. 

Stew. I'll not be struck, my lord. 

Kent. Nor tripped neither ; you base foot-ball player. 

[ Tripling wp his heels. 

Lear. I thank thee, fellow ; thou servest me, and I'll love thee. 

Kent. Come, sir, arise, away ; I'll teach you differences ; away, 
away : If you will measure your lubber's length again, tarry : but 
away : go to ; Have you wisdom ? so. [Pushes the Steward 07it. 

Lear. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee : there's earnest of 
thy service. [Giving Kent money. 

Enter Fool. 

Fool. Let me hire him too ; — Here's my coxcomb. 

[Giving Kent his cap. 

Lear. How now, my pretty knave ? how dost thou ? 

Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. 

Kent. Why, fool ? 

Fool. Why ? For taking one's part that is out of favor : Nay, an 
thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly : 
There, take my coxcomb : Why, this fellow has banish'd two of his 
daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will ; if thou fol- 



KING LEAR. 271 

low him. thou must needs wear my coxcomb. — How now, rmncle ? 
'Would i had two coxcombs, and two daughters ! 
Lear. Why, my boy ? 

Fool. If I gave them all my Hving, I'd keep my coxcombs myself : 
There's mine ; beg another of thy daughters. 
Lear. Take heed, sirrah ; the whip. 

Fool. Truth's a dog that must to kennel ; he must be whipp'd out, 
when Lady, the brach, may stand by the fire. 
Lear. A pestilent gall to me ! 
Fool. Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech. 
Lear. Do. 
Fool. Mark it. nuncle : — 

Have more than thou shovv-est, 
Speak less than thou knowest, 
Lend less than thou owest, 
Ride more than thou goest. 
Learn more than thou trowest, 
Set less than thou throwest ; 
And thou shalt have more 
Than two tens to a score. 
Lear. This is nothing, fool. 

Fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer ; you gave 
me nothing for 't : Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle ? 
Lear. Why, no, boy ; nothing can be made out of nothing. 
Fool. Pr'ythee, tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to ; 
he will not believe thee. [ To Kent. 

Lear. A bitter fool ! 

Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter 
fool and a sweet one ? 

Lear. No, lad ; teach me. 
Fool. That lord, that counsell'd thee 
To give away thy land, 
Come place him here by me, — 

Or do thou for him stand : 
The sweet and bitter fool 
Will presently appear ; 
The one in motley here, 
The other found out there. 
Lear. Dost thou call me a fool, boy ? 

Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away ; that thou wast 
born with. 

Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord. 

Fool. Thou hadst httle wit in thy bald crown, when thou gavest 
thy golden one away. If I speak Hke myself in this, let him be 
whipp'd that first finds it so. 

Fools had ne^er less grace in a year ; [ Singing, 

For wise men are grown foppish ; 
And know not how their luiis to wear^ 
Their manners are so apish. 



272 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Lear. When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah ? 
Fool. I have used it, nuncie, ever since thou madest thy daughters 
thy mother- 

Then they for sudden joy did weep, [Singing. 

And I for sorrow sung, 
That such a king should play ho-peep, 
And go the fools among. 
Pr'ythee, nuncie, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie ; 
I would fain learn to lie. 
Lear. If you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipp'd. 
Fool. I marvel, what kin thou and thy daughters are : they'll have 
me whipp'd for speaking true, thou'lt have me whipp'd for lying ; 
and, sometimes, I am whipp'd for holding my peace. I had rather be 
any kind of thing than a fool : and yet I would not be thee, nuncie ; 
thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing in the middle ; 
Here comes one o' the parings. 

Enter Goneril. 

Lear. How now, daughter ? what makes that frontlet on ? Me- 
thinks, you are too much of late i' the frown. 

Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd fool, 
But other of your insolent retinue 
Do hourly carp and quarrel ; breaking forth 
In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir, 
I had thought, by making this well known unto you, 
To have found a safe redress : but now grow fearful, 
By what yourself too late have spoke and done. 
That you protect this course, and put it on 
By your allowance ; which, if you should, the fault 
Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep ; 
Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, 
Might in their working do you that offence. 
Which else were shame, that then necessity 
Will call discreet proceeding. 

Lear. Are you our daughter ? 

Gon. Come, sir, I would you would make use of that good wis- 
dom whereof I know you are fraught ; and put away these disposi- 
tions, which of late transform you Irom what you rightly are. 

Lear. Does any here know me ? — Why this is not Lear : does 
Lear walk thus ? speak thus ? Where are his eyes ? Either his 
notion weakens, or his discemings are lethargied. — Sleeping or 
waking ? — Ha ! sure 'tis not so. — Who is it that can tell me who I 
am ? — Lear's shadow ? I would learn that ; for by the marks of 
sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded I 
had daughters. — Your name, fair gentlewoman ? 

Gon. Come, sir : 
This admiration is much o' the favor 
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you 
To understand my purposes aright : 



!? 



KING LEAR. 273 

As you are old and reverend, you should be wise : 

Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires ; 

Men so disorder'd, so debauch'd and bold, 

That this our court, infected with their manners, 

Shows like a riotous inn more 

Than a grac'd palace : The shame itself doth speak 

For instant remedy : Be then desir'd 

By her. that else w411 take the thing she begs, 

A little to disquantity your train ; 

And the remainder, that shall still depend. 

To be such men as may besort your age, 

And know themselves and you. 

Lear. ' Darkness and devils ! — 

Saddle my horses ; call my train together. — 
Degenerate viper I I'll not trouble thee ; 
Yet have I left a daughter. 

Gon. You strike my people ; and your disorder'd rabble 
Make servants of their betters. 

Enter Albany. 

Lear. Woe, that too late repents, — O, sir, are you come ? 
Is it your Vvill ? — [To Alb.] — Speak, sir. — Prepare my horses ? 
Ingratitude ! thou marble-hearted fiend, 
More hideous, when thou show'st thee in a child. 
Than the sea-monster ! 

Alh. Pray? sir, be patient. 

Lear. Detested kite ! thou liest: [To GoNERn*. 

My train are men of choice and rarest parts, 
That all particulars of duty knov/ ; 

And in the most exact regard support j 

The worships of their name. — O most small fault. 
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show ! 
Which, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature 
From the fix'd place ; drew from my heart all love, 
And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear ! 

Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, [^Striking his head. 

And thy dear judgment out ! — Go, go, my people. 

Alb. My lord. I am guiltless, as I am ignorant 
Of what hath mov'd you. 

Lear. What ! fifty of my followers, at a clap, ^ 

Within a fortnight ? 

Alb. What's the matter, sir ? 

Lear. I'll tell thee ; — Life and death ! I am asham'd 
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus : [ To Goneril. 
That these hot tears, which break from me perforce. 
Should make thee worth them. — Blasts and fogs upon thee ! 
The untented woundings of a father's curse 
Pierce every sense about thee !- — Old fond eyes, 
Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck you out ; 

13* 



274 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

And cast you, with the waters that you lose. 
To temper clay : — Ha ! is it come to this ? 
Let it be so : — Yet have I left a daughter. 
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable ; 
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails 
She'll flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find. 
That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think 
I have cast off for ever ; thou shalt, I warrant thee. 

[Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants. 

ACT 11. 

Lear dispatches Kent to the court of the Duke of Cornwall, to announce his intention 
of taking up his residence with his daughter Regan. The Duke and his wife are at the 
Castle of Gloster, where they are found by Kent. The sturdy old man chastises the 
insolence of a servitor of Goneril's, and is placed in the stocks, by the order of Regan- 
Lear, not finding Regan at her own castle, seeks her at the Duke of Gloster 's. 

SCENE— before Gloster's Castle. 
Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman. 

Lear. 'Tis strange, that they should so depart from home. 
And not send back my messenger. 

Gent. As I learn'd, . 

The night before there was no purpose in them 
Of this remove. 

Kent. Hail to thee, noble master ! 

Lear. How ! 
Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime ? 

Kent. No, my lord. 

Fool. Ha, ha ; look ! he wears cruel garters ! Horses are tied by 
the heads ; dogs, and bears, by the neck ; monkeys by the loins, and 
men by the legs. 

Lear. What's he, that hath so much thy place mistook 
To set thee here ? 

Kent. It is both he and she, 

Your son and daughter. 

Lear. No. 

Kent. Yes. 

Lear. No, I say. 

Kent. I say, yea. 

Lear. No, no ; they would not. 

Kent. Yes they have. 

Lear. By Jupiter, I swear, no. 

Kent. By Juno, I swear, ay. 

Lear. They durst not do't ; 
They could not, would not do't ; 'tis worse than murder, 
To do upon respect such violent outrage : 
Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way 



KING LEAR. 275 

Thou might'st deserve, or they impose, this usage, 
Coming from us. 

Kent. My lord, when at their home 

I did commend your highness' letters to them, 
Ere I was risen from the place that show'd 
My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post, 
Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth 
From Goneril liis mistress, salutations ; 
DeUver'd letters, spite of intermission, 
Which presently they read : on whose contents 
They summon'd up their meiny, straight took horse ; 
Commanded me to follow, and attend 
The leisure of their answer ; gave me cold looks : 
And meeting here the other messenger. 
Whose welcome, I perceiv'd, had poison'd mine, 
(Being the very fellow that of late 
Display'd so saucily against your highness,) 
Having more man than wit about me, drew ; 
He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries : 
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth 
The shame which here it suffers. 

FooL Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way. 
Fathers, that wear rags. 

Do make their children blind ; 
But fathers, that bear bags. 
Shall see their children kind. 
But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolors for thy daughters, 
as thou canst tell in a year. 

Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward my heart I 
Down, thou climbing sorrow, thy element's below ! 
Where is this daughter ? 

Kent. With the earl, sir, here within. 

Lear. Follow me not ; 

Stay here. \^Exit. 

Gent. Made you no more offence than w^hat you speak of ? 

Kent. None. 
How chance the king comes with so small a train ? 

Fool. An thou hadst been set i' the stocks for that question, thou 
hadst well deserved it. 

Kent. Wliy, fool ? 

Fool. We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there's no 
laboring in the winter. All that follow their noses are led by their 
eyes, but blind men. Let go thy hold, when a great wheel runs 
down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following it ; but the great 
one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise 
man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again : I would have 
none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it. 

That, sir, which serves and seeks for gain, 
And follows but for form. 



276 shakspearia:^ reader. 

Will pack, when it begins to rain, 

And leave thee in the storm. 
But I will tarry ; the fool will stay. 

And let the wise man fly : 
The knave turns fool, that runs away ; 
The fool no knave, perdy. 
Kent. Where learn'd you this, fool ? 
Fool. Not i' the stocks, fool. 

Re-enter Lear, with Gloster. 

Lear. Deny to speak with me ? They are sick ? they are weary ? 
They have travell'd hard to-night ? Mere fetches 
The images of revolt and flying ofl*! 
Fetch me a better answer. 

Glo. My dear lord. 

You know the fiery quality of the duke ; 
How unremovable and fix'd he is 
In his own course. 

Lear. Vengeance ! plague ! death ! confusion ! — 
Fiery ? what quality ? why, Gloster, Gloster, 
I'd speak with the duke of Cornwall, and his wife. 

Glo. Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them so. 

Lear. Inform'd them ! Dost thou understand me, man ? 

Glo. Ay, my good lord. 

Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall ; the dear father 
Would with his daughter speak, commands her service : 

Are they inform'd of this ?- My breath and blood ! — 

Fiery ? the fiery duke ?— Tell the hot duke, that— 

No, but not yet : — may be, he is not well : 

Infirmity doth still neglect ail office. 

Whereto our health is bound ; we are not ourselves, 

When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind 

To suffer with the body : I'll forbear ; 

And am fallen out with my more headier will. 

To take the indispos'd and sickly fit 

For the sound man. — Death on my state ! wherefore 

[Lookijig on Kent. 
Should he sit here ? This act persuades me. 
That this remotion of the duke and her 
Is practice only. Give me my servant forth : 
Go, tell the duke and his wife, I'd speak with them. 
Now, presently : bid them come forth and hear me, 
Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum. 
Till it cry — Sleep to death. 

Glo. I'd have all well betwixt you. [Exit, 

Lear. O me, my heart, my rising heart ! — but, down. 

Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and Servants. 
Good morrow to you both. 



KING LEAR. 277 

Corn. Hail to your grace ! 

[Kent is set at liberty. 

Reg. I am glad to see your highness. 

Lear. Regan, I think you are ; I know what reason 
I have to think so : if thou should'st not be glad, 
I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb. 
Beloved Regan, 

Thy sister's naught : O Regan, she hath tied 
Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here, — 

[Points to his heart, 
I can scarce speak to thee ; thou'lt not believe. 
Of how deprav'd a quality — O Regan ! 

Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience ; I have hope, 
You less know how to value her desert, 
Than she to scant her duty. 

Lear. Say, how is that ? 

Reg. I cannot think, my sister in the least 
Would fail her obligation : if, sir, perchance. 
She have restrain'd the riots of your followers, 
'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, 
As clears her from all blame. 

Lear. My curses on her ! 

Reg. O, sir, you are old ; 

Nature in you stands on the very verge 
Of her confine : you should be rul'd, and led 
By some discretion, that discerns your state 
Better than you yourself: Therefore, I pray you, 
That to our sister you do make return : 
Say, you have wrong'd her, sir. 

Lear. Ask her forgiveness ? 

Do you but mark how this becomes the house ? 
Dear daughter, I confess that I am old ; 

Age is unnecessary : on my knees I beg, [Kneeling* 

That you'' II vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food. 

Reg. Good sir, no more ; these are unsightly tricks : 
Return you to my sister. 

Lear. Never, Regan : 

She hath abated me of half my train ; 
Look'd black upon me ; struck me with her tongue. 
Most serpent-like, upon the very heart : — 
All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall 
On her ungrateful top ! Strike her young bones. 
You taking airs, with lameness ! 

Corn. Fye, fye, fye ! 

Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames 
Into her scornful eyes ! Infect her beauty, 
You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, 
To fall and blast her pride ! 

Reg. O the blest gods! 



278 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

So will you wish on me, when the rash mood's on. 

Lear, No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse ; 
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give 
Thee o'er to harshness ; her eyes are fierce, but thine 
Do comfort, and not burn : 'Tis not in thee 
To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train. 
To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, 
And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt 
Against my coming in : thou better know'st 
The offices of nature, bond of childhood. 
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude ; 
Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot, 
Wherein I thee endow'd. 

Reg. Good sir, to the purpose. 

[ Trumjpets within, 

Lear, Who put my man i' the stocks ? 

Corn, What trumpet's that ? 

Enter Steward. 

Reg. I know't, my sister's : this approves her letter. 
That she would soon be here. — Is your lady come ? 

Lear. This is a slave, whose easy-borrow'd pride 
Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows : — 
Out, varlet, from my sight ! 

Corn. What means your grace ? 

Lear. Who stock'd my servant ? Regan, I have good hope 
Thou didst not know of 't. — Who comes here ? O, heavens, 

Enter Goneril. 

If you do love old men, if your sweet sway 

Allow obedience, if yourselves are old. 

Make it yo"ur cause : send down, and take my part ! — 

Art not asham'd to look upon this beard ?- — [ To Goneril. 

O, Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand ? 

Gon. Why not by the hand, sir ? How have I offended ? 
All's not offence, that indiscretion finds, 
And dotage terms so. 

Lear. O, sides, you are too tough ! 

Will you yet hold ? — How came my man i' the stocks ? 

Corn. I set him there, sir : but his own disorders 
Deserv'd much less advancement. 

Lear. You ! did you ? 

Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. 
If, till the expiration of your month, 
You will return and sojourn with my sister, 
Dismissing half your train, come then to me ; 
I am now from home, and out of that provision 
Which shall be needful for your entertainment. 

Lear. Return to her, and fiftv men dismiss'd ? 



KING LEAR. , 279 

No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose 

To wage against the enmity o' the air ; 

To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, — 

Necessity's sharp pinch ! — Return with her ? 

Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took 

Our youngest born, I could as well be brought 

To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg 

To keep base life afoot : — Return with her ? 

Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter 

To this detested groom. [Looking on the Steward 

Gon. At your choice, sir. 

Lear. I pr'3^hee, daughter, do not make me mad ; 
I will not trouble thee, my child ; farewell : 
We'll no more meet, no more see one another : — 
But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, mj daughter ; 
Or, rather a disease that's in my flesh. 
Which I must needs call mine ; thou art a boil, 
A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle. 
In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee ; 
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it : 
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot, 
Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove : 
Mend, when thou canst ; be better, at thy leisure : 
I can be patient ; I can stay with Regan, 
I, and my hundred knights. 

Reg. Not altogether so, sir ; 

I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided 
For your fit welcome : Give ear, sir, to my sister ; 
For those that mingle reason with your passion 
Must be content to think you old, and so — 
But she knows what she does. 

Lear. Is this well spoken now ? 

Reg, I dare avouch it, sir : What, fifty follow^ers ? 
Is it not well ? What should you need of more ? 
Yea, or so many ? sith that both charge and danger 
Speak 'gainst so great a number ? How, in one house, 
Should many people, under two commands, 
Hold amity ? 'Tis hard ; almost impossible. 

Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance, 
From those that she calls servants, or from mine ? 

Reg. Why not, my lord ? If then they chanc'd to slack you, 
We could control them : If you will come to me, 
(For now I spy a danger,) I entreat you 
To bring but five and twenty ; to no more 
Will I give place, or notice. 

Lear. I gave you all — 

Reg. . And in good time you gave it. 

Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries ; 
But kept a reservation to be follow'd 



280 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

With such a number : What, must I come to you 
With live and twenty, Regan ? said you so ? 

Reg. And speak it again, my lord ; no more with me. 

Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well favor'd, 
When others are more wicked ; not being the worst. 
Stands in some rank of praise : — I'll go with thee ; [To Goneril. 
Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty. 
And thou art twice her love. 

Gon. Hear me, my lord ; 

What need you five and twenty, ten, or five. 
To follow in a house, where twice so many 
Have a command to tend you ? 

Reg. What need one ? 

Lea?\ O, reason not the need : our basest beggars 
Are in the poorest thing superfluous : 
Allow not nature more than nature needs, 
Man's life is cheap as beast's : thou art a lady ; 
If only to go w^arai w^ere gorgeous, 
Why, nature needs not w^hat thou gorgeous wear'st. 
Which scarcely keeps thee warm. — But, for true need, 
You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need ! 
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man. 
As full of grief as age ; wretched in both ! 
If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts 
Against their father, fool me not so much 
To bear it tamely ; touch me with noble anger ! 
O, let not woman's weapons, water-drops, 
Stain my man's cheeks ! — No, you unnatural hags, 
I will have such revenges on you both. 
That all the world shall — I will do such things, — • 
What they are, yet I know not ; but they shall be 
The terrors of the earth. You think, I'll weep. 
No, I'll not weep : 

I have full cause of weeping ; but this heart 
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws. 
Or ere I'll weep : — O, fool, I shall go mad ! 

[Exeunt Lear, Gloster, Kent and Fool. 

Corn. Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm. 

[ Storm heard at a distance, 

Reg. This house 

Is little ; the old man and his people cannot 
Be well bestow'd. 

Gon. 'Tis his own blame ; he hath put 
Himself from rest, and must needs taste his folly. 

Reg. For his particular, I'll receive him gladly, 
But not one follower. 

Gon. So am I purpos'd. 

Where is my lord of Gloster ? 



AING LEAR. 281 

Re-enter Gloster. 

Corn. Follow'd the old man forth : — he is retum'd. 

Glo. The king is in high rage. 

Corn. Whither is he going ? 

Glo. He calls to horse ; but will I know not whither. 

Corn. 'Tis best to give him way ; he leads himself. 

Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay. 

Glo. Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds 
Do sorely ruffle ; for many miles about 
There's scarce a bush. 

Reg. O, sir, to wilful men, 

The injuries, that they themselves procure. 
Must be their schoolmasters : Shut up your doors ; 
He is attended with a desperate train ; 
And what they may incense him to, being apt 
To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear. 

Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord ; 'tis a wild night : 
My Regan counsels well : come out o' the storm. [ExeufU. 

ACT III. 

Lear, cast off by his pitiless daughters, wanders distracted through the country, accom- 
panied by his faithful Fool. Kent is released, and immediately proceeds in search of his 
royal master. 

SCENE. — A Heath. A storm is heard, with thunder and lightning. 

Enter Lear, and Fool. 

Lear. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks ! rage ! blow ! 
You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout 
Till you have drench'd our steeples ! 
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, 
Vaunt couriers to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts, 
Singe my w^hite head ! And thou, all shaking thunder. 
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world ! 
Crack nature's moulds, all germins* spill at once, 
That make ingrateful man ! 

Fool. Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing ; here's a 
night pities neither wise men nor fools. 

Lear. Rumble thy bellyfull ! Spit, fire ! spout, rain ! 
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters : 
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness, 
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, 
You owe me no subscription ; why then let fall 
Your horrible pleasure ; here I stand, your slave, 
A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man : — 

* Seeds begun to sprout. 



282 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

But yet I call you servile ministers, 

That have with two pernicious daughters join'd 

Your high engendered battles, 'gainst a head 

So old and white as this. O ! O ! 'tis foul ! — 

No, I will be the pattern of all patience, I will say nc thing. 

Enter Kent. 

Kent Alas, sir, are you here ? things that love night, 
Love not such nights as these ; the wrathful skies 
Gallow the very wanderers of the dark, 
And make them keep their caves : Since I was man, 
Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder. 
Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never 
Remember to have heard : man's nature cannot carry 
The affliction, nor the fear. 

Lear. Let the great gods. 

That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads, 
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thc^u wretch. 
That hast within thee undivulged crimes, 
Unwhipp'd of justice : Hide thee, thou bloody hand ; 
Thou perjur'd, and thou simular man of virtue : 
Caitiff, to pieces shake. 
That under covert and convenient seeming 
Hast practis'd on man's life ! — Close pent-up guilts. 
Rive your concealing continents, and cry 
These dreadful summoners grace. — I am a man. 
More sinn'd against, than sinning. 

Kent. Alack, bare-headed ! 

Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel ; 
Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest ; 
Repose you there : while I to this hard house, 
(More hard than is the stone whereof 'tis rais'd ; 
Which even but now, demanding after you. 
Denied me to come in,) return, and force 
Their scanted courtesy. 

Lear. My wits begin to turn. — 

Come on, my boy : How dost, my boy ? Art cold ? 
I am cold myself. — Where is this straw, my fellow ? 
The art of our necessities is strange, 
That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel, 
Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart 
That's sorry yet for thee. 

Fool. He that has a little tiny wit, — 

With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain, — 
Must make content with his fortune fit ; 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

Lear. True, my good boy. — Come, bring us to this hovel. 

[Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Fool. 



KING LEAR. 283 

Edgar escapes from the pursuit of his Father, aud assumes the disguise of a ** Tom 
of Bedlam," or madman He finds shelter on the deserted Heath, to which Lear has 
wandered. He encounters the King. The assumption of madness by Edgar contrasts 
very strikingly with the real insanity of Lear, in the two following scenes. 

SCENE.— A Part of the Heath, with a Hovel. 

Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. 

Kent, Here is the place, my lord ; good my lord, enter : 
The tyranny of the open night's too rough 
For nature to endure. \_^torm still 

Lear. Let me alone. 

Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 

Lear. Wilt break my heart ? 

Kent. I'd rather break mine own : Good my lord, enter. 

Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this contentious storm 
Invades us to the skin : so 'tis to thee ; 
But where the greater malady is fix'd. 
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear : 
But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea, 
Thou'dst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the mind's free, 
The body's delicate : the tempest in my mind 
Doth from my senses take all feeling else, 
Save what beats there. — Filial ingratitude ! 
Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand, 
For lifting food to't ? — ^But I will punish home : — 
No, I will weep no more. — In such a night 
To shut me out ! — Pour on ; I will endure : — 
In such a night as this ! O Regan, Goneril ! — 
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all, — 
O, that way madness lies ; let me shun that ; 
No more of that, — 

Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 

Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thyself ; seek thine own ease ; 
This tempest will not give me leave to ponder 
On things would hurt me more. — But I'll go in : 
In, boy ; go first. — [To the Fool.] — You houseless poverty, — 
Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep. — [Fool goes in. 
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm. 
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides. 
Your loop'd and window'd "raggedness, defend you 
From seasons such as these ? O, I have ta'en 
Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; 
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel ; 
That thou may'st shake the superflux to them, 
And show the heavens more just. [Tom ! 

Edgar. — [Within.'] — Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor 

[ Tlie Fool runs out of the hovel. 



284 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Fool. Come not in here, uncle, here's a spirit. Help me, help 
me ! 

Kent. Give me thy hand. — Who's there ? 

Fool. A spirit, a spirit ; he says his name's poor Tom. 

Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i' the straw ? 
Come forth. 

Enter Edgar, disguised as a madman. 

Edg. Away ! the foul fiend follows me ! — 
Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. — 
Humph ! go to thy cold bed and warm thee. 

Lear. Hast thou given all to thy two daughters ? 
And art thou come to this ? 

Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom ? whom the foul fiend 
hath led through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, 
over bog and quagmire ; that hath laid knives under his pillow, and 
halters in his pew ; set ratsbane by his porridge ; made him proud 
of heart, to ride on a bay trotting horse over four-inch bridges, to 
course his own shadow for a traitor : — Bless thy five wits ! Tom's 
a-cold. — Bless thee from whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking ! Do 
poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes : There could 1 
have him now, — and there, — and there, — and there again, and there. 

\_Storm continues. 

Lear. What, have his daughters ^brought him to this pass ? — 
Could'st thou save nothing ? Didst thou give them all ? 

Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had all been ashamed. 

Lear. Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air 
Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters ! 

Kent. He hath no daughters, sir. 

Lear. Death, traitor ! nothing could have subdu'd nature 
To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters. — 
It is the fashion, that discarded fathers 
Should have this little mercy on their flesh ! 
Judicious punishment ! 'twas this flesh begot 
Those pelican daughters. 

Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen. 

Edg. Take heed o' the foul fiend : Obey thy parents ; keep thy 
word justly ; swear not ; set not thy sweet heart on proud array : 
Tom's a-cold. 

Lear. What hast thou been ? 

Edg. A serving-man, proud in heart and mind ; that curled my 
hair ; wore gloves in my cap ; swore as many oaths as I spake 
words, and broke them in the sweet face of heaven. 

[ Storm still continues. 

Lear. Why, thou wert better in thy grave, than to answer with 
thy uncover'd body this extremity of the skies. — Is man no more 
than this ? Consider him well : Thou owest the worm no silk, the 
beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume : — Ha ! here's 
three of us are sophisticated ! — Thou art the thing itself: unaccom- 



KING LEAR. 285 

modated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou 
art. — Off, off, you lendings : — Come ; unbutton here. — 

[ Tearing off his clothes. 
Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, be contented ; this is a naughty night to 
swim in. — Look, here comes a walking fire. 

Gloster is moved to pity the wrongs inflicted on his royal master. He incurs the dis- 
pleasure of Cornwall and Regan, is dispossessed of his Castle, and follows in pursuit of 
Lear. 

Enter Gloster, ivith a torch. 

Lear. What's he ? 

Kent. Who's there ? What is't you seek ? 

Glo. What are you there ? Your names ? 

Edg. Poor Tom. ; that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the tad- 
pole, the wall-newt, and the water ; who is whipped from tything to 
tything, and stocked, punished, and imprisoned ; who hath had three 
suits to his back, six shirts to his body, horse to ride, and weapon to 
wear. ♦ 

But mice, and rats, and such small deer. 
Have been Tom^s food for seven long year. 

Beware my follower : — Peace, Smolkin ; peace, thou fiend ! 

Glo. What, hath your grace no better company ? 

Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman ; 
Modo he's call'd, and Mahu. 

Glo. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile, 
That it doth hate what gets it. 

Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold. 

Glo. Go in with me ; my duty cannot suffer 
To obey all your daughters' hard commands : 
Though their injunction be to bar my doors, 
And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you ; 
Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out. 
And bring you where both fire and wood is ready. 

Lear. First let me talk with this philosopher : — 
What is the cause of thunder ? 

Kent. Good my lord, take his offer ; 
Go into the house. 

Lear. I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban :— 
What is your study ? 

Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin. 

Lear. Let me ask you one word in private. 

Kent, Importune him once more to go, my lord, 
His wits begin to unsettle. 

Glo. Canst thou blame him ? 

His daughters seek his death : — Ah, that good Kent ! — 
He said it would be thus : — Poor banish'd man ! — 
Thou say'st the king grows mad : I'll tell thee, friend, 
I am almost mad myself: I had a son. 



286 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Now outlaw'd from my blood : he sought my hfe, 

But lately, very late ; I lov'd him, friend, — 

No father his son dearer : true to tell thee, [Storm continues. 

The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this I 

I do beseech your grace. 

Lear. O, cry you mercy, 

Noble philosopher, your company. 

Edg. Tom's a-cold. 

Glo, In, fellow, there to the hovel : keep thee warm. 

Lea7\ Come, let's in all. 

Kent. This way, my lord. 

Lear. With him ; 

I will keep still with my philosopher. 

Kent. Good my lord, soothe him ; let him take the fellow. 

Glo. Take you him on. 

Kent. Sirrah, come on ; go along with ns. 

Lear. Come, good Athenian. 

Glo. No words, no words : 

Hush. 

Edg. Child Rowland to the dark tower came, 

His word was still, — Fie, f oh, andfum, 
I smell the blood of a British man. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. 

A Chamber in a Farm-House, adjoining the Castle . 
Enter Gloster, Lear, Kent, Fool, and'^'EBGAR. 

Glo. Here is better than the open air ; take it thankfully : I will 
piece out the comfort with what addition T can : I will not be long 
from you. 

Kent. All the power of his wits has given way to his impatience : 
— The gods reward your kindness ! [Exit Gloster. 

Edg. Frateretto calls me ; and tells me, Nero is an angler in the 
lake of darkness. Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend. 

Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, tell me, whether a madman be a gentle- 
man, or a yeoman ? 

Lear. A king, a king ! 

Fool. No : he's a yeoman, that has a gentleman to his son ; for 
he's a mad yeoman, that sees his son a gentleman before him, 

Lear. To have a thousand with red burning spits 
Come hizzing in upon them : — 

Edg. The foul fiend bites my back. 

Lear. It shall be done, I will arraign them straight : — 
Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer ;-' — [To Edgar. 

Thou, sapient sir, sit here. — [To the Fool.] — Now, you she foxes ! — 

Edg. Look, where he stands and glares ! — 
Wantest thou eyes at trial, madam ? 



KING- LEAR. , 287 

Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me : — 
Fool. Her boat hath a leak. 
And she must not speak 
Why she dares not come over to thee. 
Kent. How do you, sir ? Stand you not so amaz'd : 
Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions ? 

Lear. I'll see their trial first : — Bring in the evidence.— 
Thou robed man of justice, take thy place ; — [To EiBCrXR. 

And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, [To the Fool. 

Bench by his side : — You are of the commission, [To Kent. 

Sit you too. 

Edg. Let us deal justly. 

Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd! 

Thy sheep'be in the corn ; 
And for one blast of thy minikin mouth, 
Thy sheep shall take no harm. 

Pur ! the cat is gray. 

Lear. Arraign her first : 'tis Goneril. I here take my oath before 
this honorable assembly, she kicked the poor king her father. 

Fool. Come hither, mistress ; Is your name Goneril ? 

Lear. She cannot deny it. 

Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint stool. 

Lear. And here's another, whose warp'd looks proclaim 
What store her heart is made of. — Stop her tliere ! 
Arms, arms, sword, fire I — Corruption in the place ! 
False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape ? 

Edg. Bless thjf five wits ! 

Kent. O pity ! — Sir, where is the patience now. 
That you so oft have boasted to retain ? 

Edg. My tears begin to take his part so much, 
They'll mar my counterfeiting. [Aside. 

Lear. The little dogs and all, 
Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me. 

Edg. Tom will throw^ his head at them : — Avaunt, you curs! 

Be thy mouth or black or white, 
Tooth that poisons if it bite ; 
Mastifi; greyhound, mongrel grim, 
Hound, or spaniel, brach, or hTn ; 
Or bobtail tike, or trundle-tail ; 
Tom will make them weep and wail : 
For, with throwing thus my head : 
Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled. 

Do de, de de. Sessa. Come, march to wakes and fairs, and market 
towns : — Poor Tom, thy horn is dry. 

Lear. Then let them anatomize Regan, see what breeds about her 
heart : Is there any cause in nature, that makes these hard hearts ? 
—You, sir, I entertain you for one of my hundred ; only, I do not 



288 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. t 

V 

like the fashion of your garments : you will say, they are Pei'sian 
attire ; but let them be changed. [To Edgar. 

Kent. Now, good my lord, lie here, and rest awhile. 

Lear. Make no noise, make no noise ; draw the curtains : So, so, 
so : We'll go to supper i' the morning : So, so, so. 

Fool. And I'll go to bed at noon. 

Re-enter Gloster. 

Glo. Come hither, friend : Where is the king my master ? 

Kent. Here, sir ; but trouble him not, his wits are gone. 

Glo. Good friend, I pr'ythee take him in thy arms ; 
I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him : 
There is a litter ready ; lay him in't, 
And drive tow^ards Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet 
Both w^elcome and protection. Take up thy master ; 
If thou should'st dally half an hour, his life. 
With thine, and all that offer to defend him. 
Stand in assured loss : Take up, take up ; 
And follow me, that will to some provision 
Give thee quick conduct. 

Kent. Oppress'd nature sleeps : — 

This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken senses, 
Which, if convenience will not allow, 
Stand in hard cure. — Come, help to bear thy master ; 
Thou must not stay behind. [ To the Fool. 

Glo. Come, come, awa,y. 

[Exeunt Kent, Gloster, and the Fool, bearing off the King. 

Edg. When we our betters see bearing our woes, 
We scarcely think our miseries our foes. 
Who alone suffers, suffers most i' the mind ; 
Leaving free things, and happy shows, behind : 
But then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip. 
When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. 
How light and portable my pain seems now. 
When that, which makes me bend, makes the king bow ; 
He childed, as I father'd ! — Tom, away : 
Mark the high noises : and thyself bewray. 
When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles thee. 
In thy just proof, repeals, and reconciles thee. 
What will hap more to-night, save 'scape the king ! 
Lurk, lurk. [Exit. 

ACT IV. 

Regan and Cornwall issue orders to Edmund to seek out his Father, and bring him 
back to the Castle. Gloster is overtaken, and is punished for his commiseration towards 
the King, by the loss of his eyes. In this stale he is carried back to the Heath, and is there 
encountered by his Son Edgar. 



KING LEAR. 289 

SCENE I.— The Heath 
Enter Edgak. 
Edg. Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd, 
Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst, 
The lowest, and most dejected thing of fortune. 
Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear : 
The lamentable change is from the best ; 
The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then, 
Thou unsubstantial air, that I embrace ! 
The wretch, that thou hast blown unto the worst, 
Owes nothing to thy blasts. — But who comes here ? — 

Enter Gloster, led by an Old Man. 

My father, poorly led ? World, world, O world ! 
But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, 
Life would not yield to age. 

Old Man, O my good lord, I have been your tenant, and youi 
father's tenant, these fourscore years. 

Glo. Away, get thee away ; good friend, be gone : 
Thy comforts can do me no good at all, 
Thee they may hurt. 

Old Man. Alack, sir, you cannot see your way. 

Glo. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes ; 
I stumbled when I saw : Full oft 'tis seen, 
Our mean secures us ; and our mere defects 
Prove our commodities. — Ah, dear son Edgar, 
The food of thy abused father's ^^Tath ! 
Might I but live to see thee in my touch, 
I'd say, I had eyes again ! 

Old Man. How now ? Who's there ? 

Edg. [Aside.] O gods ! who is't can say, I am at the worstl 
I am worse than e'er I was. 

Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom. 

Edg. [Aside.] And worse I may be yet : The worst is not, 
So long as w^e can say. This is the worst. 

Old Man. Fellow, where goest ? 

Glo. Is it a beggar man ? 

Old Man. Madman and beggar too. 

Glo. He has some reason, else he could not beg. 
r the last night's storm I such a fellow saw ; 
Which made me think a man a worm : My son 
Came then into my mind ; and yet my mind 
Was then scarce friends with him. 

Edg. How should this be ? 

Bad is the trade must play the fool to sorrow, 
Ang'ring itself and others. — [Aside.] — Bless thee, master ! 

Glo. Is that the naked fellow ? 

Old Man. Av, mv lord, 

H 



290 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Glo. Then, pr'ythee, get thee gone : If, for my sake, 
Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain, 
I' the way to Dover, do it for ancient love ; 
And bring some covering for this naked soul, 
Whom I'll entreat to lead me. 

Old Man. Alack, sir, he's mad. 

Glo. 'Tis the times' plague when madmen lead the blind. 
Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure ; 
Above the rest, be gone. 

Old Man. I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have. 
Come on't what will. \_Exit. 

Glo. Sirrah, naked fellow. 

Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold. — I cannot daub it further. \_Aside, 

Glo. Come hither, fellow. 

Edg. [AsfcZe.] And yet I must. — Bless thy sw^eet eyes, they 
bleed. 

Glo. Know'st thou the way to Dover ? 

Edg. Both stile and gate, horse-way, and foot-path. Poor Tom 
hath been scared out of his good wits : Bless the good man from the 
foul fiend '. 

Glo. Here, take this purse, thou whom the heaven's plagues 
Have humbled to all strokes : that I am wretched, 
Makes thee the happier : — Heavens, deal so still ! 
Let the superfluous, that will not see 
Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly ; 
So distribution should undo excess, 
And each man have enough. — Dost thou know Dover ? 

Edg. Ay, master. 

Glo. There is a cliff, whose high and bending head 
Looks fearfully in the confined deep : 
Bring me but to the very brim of it, 
And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear. 
With something rich about me : from that place 
I shall no leading need. 

Edg. Give me thy arm ; | \ 

Poor Tom shall lead thee. \ Exeunt 

It 

Edgar, still unknown to his father, leads him to a spot which he beautifully describes as 
being Dover Chffs. 

The whole scene is exquisitely wrought up. ^ I 

SCENE Yl.—The Country near Dover. Ilfr 

Re-enter Gloster, and Edgar dressed like a feasant. m^ 

Glo. When shall we come to the top of that same hill ? 1 £, 

Edg. You do climb up it now : look how we labor. mk 

Glo. Methinks, the ground is even. Itej 

Edg. Horrible steep : 

Hark, do you hear the sea ? 

Glo. No, truly. 



KING LEAK. 291 

Edg. Why, then your other senses grow imperfect 
By your eyes' anguish. 

GIo, So may it be, indeed : 

Methinks, thy voice is alter'd : and thou speak'st 
In better phrase, and matter, than thou didst. 

Edg. You are much deceiv'd : in nothing am I chang'd. 
But in my garments. 

GIo. Methinks, you are better spoken. 

Edg. Come on, sir : here's the place ; — stand still — How fearful 
And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low ! 
The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air, 
Show scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down 
Hangs one that gathers samphire ; dreadful trade ! 
Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head : 
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, 
Appear Hke mice ; and yon tall anchoring bark 
Diminish'd to her boat ', her boat a buoy 
Almost too small for sight : The murmuring surge. 
That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes. 
Cannot be heard so high : — I'll look no more, 
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 
Topple'^down headlong. 

GIo. Set me where you stand. 

Edg. Give me your hand : You are now within a foot 
Of the extreme verge : for all beneath the moon 
Would I not leap upright. 

GIo. Let go my hand. 

Here, friend, is another purse ; in it, a jewel 
Well worth a poor man's taking : Go thou further off; 
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going. 

Edg. Now fare you well, good sir. [Seems to go. 

GIo. With all my heart. 

Edg. Why I do trifle thus ^vith his despair, 
Is done to cure it. 

GIo. O you mighty gods ! 

This world I do renounce ; and, in your sights, 
Shake patiently my great affliction off*: * • 

If I could bear it longer, and not fall 
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills. 
My snuff", and loathed part of nature, should 
Bum itself out. If Edgar lives, O, bless him ! — 
Now, fellow, fare thee well. [He leaps, and falls along, 

Edg. Gone, sir ? farewell. — 

And yet I know not how conceit may rob 
The treasury of life, when life itself 
Yields to the theft : Had he been where he thought. 
By this, had thought been past. — Alive, or dead ? 
Ho. you sir ! friend ! — Hear you, sir ? — speak ! 



292 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Thus might he pass indeed : — Yet he revives : 
What are you, sir ? 

Glo. Away, and let me die. 

Edg. Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air, 
So many fathom down precipitating, 
Thou hadst shiver'd Uke an egg : but thou dost breathe ; 
Hast heavy substance ; bleedst not ; speak'st; art sound. 
Ten masts at each make not the altitude. 
Which thou hast perpendicularly fell ; 
Thy life's a miracle : Speak yet again. 

Glo. But have I fallen, or no ? 

Edg. From the dread summit of this chalky bourn : 
Look up a-height ; — the shrill- gorg'd lark so far 
Cannot be seen or heard : do but look up. 

Glo. Alack, I have no eyes. — 
Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit. 
To end itself by death ? 'Twas yet some comfort, 
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage. 
And frustrate his proud will. 

Edg. Give me your arm : 

Up : — So ; — How is't ? Feel you your legs ? You stand. 

Glo. Too well, too well. 

Edg. This is above all strangeness. 

Upon the crown o' the cliff, what thing was that 
Which parted from you ? 

Glo. A poor unfortunate beggar. 

Edg. As I stood here below, methought, his eyes 
Were two full moons ; he had a thousand noses, 
Horns whelk'd, and wav'd hke the enridged sea ; 
It was some fiend : Therefore, thou happy father. 
Think that the clearest gods, who make them honors 
Of men's impossibilities, have preserv'd thee. 

Glo. I do remember now : henceforth I'll bear 
Affliction, till it do cry out itself, 
Enough, enough, and die. That thing you speak of, 
I took it for a man ; often 'twould say, 
JThefisnd, the fiend: he led me to that place. 

Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts. But who comes here ? 
Enter Jjear, fantastically dressed up with flowers. 
The safer sense will ne'er accommodate 
His master thus. 

Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coining : 
I am the king himself. 

Edg. O thou side-piercing sight ! 

Lear. Nature's above art in that respect. — Give the word. 

Edg. Sweet marjoram. 

Lear, Pass. 

Glo. I know that voice. 

Lear. Ha ! Goneril ! — with a white beard ! — They fiatter'd me<| 



KING LEAK. 293 

like a dog ; and told me, I had white hairs in my beard, ere the black 
ones were there. To say ay and no, to every thing I said ! — Ay and 
no too was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, 
and the wind to make me chatter ; when the thunder would not 
peace at my bidding ; there I found them, there I smelt them out. 
Go to, they are not men o' their words : they told me I was every 
thing ; 'tis a lie ; I am not ague-proof. 

Glo. The trick of that voice I do well remember : 
Is't not the king ? 

Lear. Ay, every inch a king : 

When I do stare, see how the subject quakes. 
I pardon that man's life. 

Glo. O, let me kiss that hand ! 

Lear. Let me wipe it first ; it smells of mortality. 

Glo. O ruin'd piece of nature ! This great world 
Shall so wear out to nought. — Dost thou know me ? 

Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. — Read thou this chal- 
lenge ; mark but the penning of it. 

Glo. Were all the letters suns, I could not see one. 

Edg. I would not take this from report ; — it is, 
And my heart breaks at it. 

Lear. Read. 

Glo. What, with the case of eyes ? 

Lear. O, ho, are you there with me ? No eyes in your head, nor 
no money in your purse ? Your eyes are in a heavy case, your 
purse in a light. Yet you see how this world goes. 

Glo. I see it feelingly. 

Lear. What, art mad ? A man may see how this world goes, 
with no eyes. Look with thine ears : see how yon' justice rails upon 
yon' simple thief. Hark, in thine ear : Change places ; and, handy- 
dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? — Thou hast seen a 
farmer's dog bark at a beggar ? 

Glo. Ay, sir ? 

Lear. And the creature run from the cur ? 
There thou might'st behold the great image of authority : a dog's 

obeyed in office. — 
Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear ; 
Robes, and furr'd gowns, hide all. Plate sin with gold, 
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks : 
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it. 
None does offend, none. T say, none ; I'll able 'em : 
Take that of me, my friend, who have the power 
To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes ; 
And, like a scurvy politician, seem 
To see the things thou dost not. — Now, now, now, now ; 
Puh off my boots : — harder, harder ; so. 

Edg. O, matter and impertinency mix'd ! 
Reason in madness ! 

Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. 



294 SHAKSPEARTAN READER. 

I know thee well enough ; thy name is Gloster : 
Thou must be patient ; we came crying hither. 
Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air. 
We wawl, and cry : — I will preach to thee ; mark me. 

Glo, Alack, alack, the day ! 

Lear, When we are born, we cry, that we are come 
To this great stage of fools ; — ■ — This a good block ? — 
It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe 
A troop of horses with felt : I'll put it in proof; 
Aud when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law. 
Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. 

Enter a Gentleman, icitli Attendants. 

Gent. O, here he is ; lay hand upon him.— Sir, 
Your most dear daughter 

Lear. No rescue ? What, a prisoner ? I am even 
The natural fool of fortune. — Use me well ; 
You shall have ransom. Let me have a surgeon, 
I am cut to the brains. 

Gent. You shall have any thing. 

Lear. No seconds ? all myself? 
Why, this would make a man, a man of salt. 
To use his eyes for garden water-pots, 
Ay, and for laying autumn's dust. 

Gent. Good sir, — 

Lear. T will die bravely, like a bridegroom ; What ? 
I will be jovial ; come, come ; I am a king, 
My masters, know you that ? 

Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you. 

Lear. Then there's life in it. Nay, an you get it, you shall get 
it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa. \_Exit running ; Attendants /oZZow?. 

Cordelia learns the unnatural treatment her Father has received from Regan and Gon- 
eril, and proceeds with her husband, the King of France, and a numerous army, to rescue 
Lear, and punish her sisters. She finds the wretched old King, in great misery, and 
entirely bereft of reason. He is conveyed to the French camp. 

SCENE. — A Tent in the French Camp. — Lear on a Bed, asleep; 

Physicians, Gentlemen, and others attending. 

Enter Cordelia, and Kent. 

Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live, and work, 
To match thy goodness ? My life will be too short, 
And every measure fail me. 

Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'erpaid. 
All my reports go with the modest truth ; 
Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so. 

Cor. Be better suited : 

These weeds are memories of those worser hours ; 
I pr'ythee, put them off. 

Kent. Pardon me, dear madam ; 



KING LEAR. 295 

Yet to be known, shortens my made intent ; 
My boon I make it, that you know me not. 
Till time and I think meet. 

Cor. Then be it so, my good lord. — How does the king ? 

[ To the Physician. 

Phys. Madam, sleeps still. 

Cor. O you kind gods, 
Cure this great breach in his abused nature ! 
The untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up, 
Of this child-changed father ! 

Phys. So please your majesty, 

That we may wake the king ? he hath slept long. 

Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed 
r the sway of your own will. Is he array'd ? 

Gent. Ay, madam ; in the heaviness of his sleep. 
We put fresh garments on him. 

Phys. Be by, good madani, when we do awake him ; 
I doubt not of his temperance. 

Cor. Very well. 

Phys. Please you, draw near. 

Cor. O my dear father ! Restoration, hang 
Thy medicine on my lips ; and let this kiss 
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters 
Have in thy reverence made ! 

Kent. Kind and dear princess ! 

Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakes 
Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face 
To be expos'd against the warring winds ? 
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder ? 
In the most terrible and nimble stroke 
Of quick, cross-Hghtning ? to watch (poor perdu !) 
With this thin helm ? Mine enemy's dog, 
Though he had bit me, should have stood that night 
Against my fire ; And wast thou fain, poor father. 
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn. 
In shorty and musty straw ? Alack, alack ! 
'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once 
Had not concluded all. — He wakes ; speak to him. 

Phys. Madam, do you ; 'tis fittest. 

Cor. How does my royal lord ? How fares your majesty '' 

Lear. You do me wong, to take me out o'the grave : — 
Thou art a soul in bliss ; but I am bound 
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears 
Do scald like molten lead. 

Cor. Sir, do you know^ me ? 

Lear. You are a spirit. I know ; When did you die ? 

Cor. Still, stiU, far wide ! 

Phys. He's scarce awake ; let him alone awhile. 

Lear. Where have I been ? Where am I ? — Fair daylight I— 
I am mightily abus'd. — I should even die with pity, 



296 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

To see another thus. — I know not what to say.-— 
I will not swear, these are my hands : — let's see 
I feel this pin prick. 'Would I were assur'd 
Of my condition. 

Cor. O, look upon me, sir, 

And hold your hands in benediction o'er me ; — 
No, sir, you must not kneel. 

Lear, Pray, do not mock me : 

I am a very foolish fond old man, 
Fourscore and upward ; and, to deal plainly, 
I fear, I am not in my perfect mind. 
Methinks, I should know you, and know this man ; 
Yet I am doubtful ; for I am mainly ignorant 
What place this is : and all the skill I have 
Remembers not these garments ; nor I know not 
Where I did lodge last night : Do not laugh at me : 
For, as I am a man, I think this lady 
To be my child Cordelia. 

Cor. And so I am, I am. 

Lear. Be your tears wet ? Yes, 'faith. I pray, weep not : 
If you have poison for me, I will drink it. 
I know, you do not love me ; for your sisters 
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong : 
You have some cause, they have not. 

Cor. No cause, no cause. 

Lear. Am I in France ! 

Kent. In your own kingdom, sir. 

Lear. Do not abuse me. 

Phys. Be comforted, good madam ; the great rage. 
You see, is cur'd in him : and yet it is danger 
To make him even o'er the time he has lost. 
Desire him to go in ; trouble him no more. 
Till further setthng. 

Cor. Will't please your highness walk ? 

Lear. You must bear with me : 

Pray now, forget and forgive : I am old, and foolish. 

[Exeunt Lear, Cordelia, Physician, and Attend. 

ACT V. 

Lear is restored to reason, and aided by the forces of France, makes war against the 
Dukes of Cornwall and Albany, whose armies are led on by Edmund, created by them 
Earl of Gloster. The King, and Cordelia are defeated, and made prisoners. 

SCENE.— T/ie British Camp near Dover. 

Enter, in conquest, with drum and colors, Edmund ; Lear, and Cor- 
delia, as prisoners ; Officers, Soldiers, <J*c. 
Edm. Some officers take them away : good guard ; 
Until their greater pleasures first be known 
That are to censure them. 



KING LEAR. 297 

Cor. We are not the first, 

Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the worst. 
For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down ; 
Myself could else out-frown false fortune's frown.— 
Shall we not see these daughters, and these sisters ? 

Lear. No, no, no, no ! Come, let's away to prison : 
We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage : 
When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel dow^n. 
And ask of thee forgiveness : So we'll live. 
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh 
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues 
Talk of court new's ; and we'll talk with them too, — 
Who loses, and who wins ; wiio's in, who's out : — 
And take upon us the mystery of things. 
As if we were Heaven's spies : And w^e'll wear out, 
In a w^all'd prison, packs and sects of great ones, 
That ebb and flow by the moon. 

Edm. Take them away. 

Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, 
The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee ? 
He that parts us, shall bring a brand from heaven. 
And fire us hence, like foxes. Wipe thine eyes ; 
They shall not make us w^eep : we'll see them starve first. 
Come. [Exeunt Lear, and Cordelia, guarded. 

Lear and his daughter are conveyed to Prison, and orders are given by Albany to 
hang CordeUa. 

Punishment now overtakes the guilty Regan and Goneril. In pursuing their unlaw- 
ful love towards Edmund, Regan, through jealousy, poisons her sister, and then dies by 
her own hand. 

Edmund receives the reward of his crimes from Edgar, who challenges him to single 
3ombat and slays him. Gloster is reconciled to his son, and the Play ends with the death 
of Lear. 

SCENE.— A Prison. 

Enter Lear, with Cordelia dead in Ms arms ; Edgar, Oflicer, 
and others. 

Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl ! — O, you are men of stones ; 
Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so 
That heaven's vault should crack : — O, she is gone for ever ! — 
I know when one is dead, and when one lives ; 
She's dead as earth : — Lend me a looking-glass ; 
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, 
Why, then she hves. 

Kent. Is this the promis'd end ? 

Edg. Or image of that horror ? 

Lear. This feather stirs ; she lives ! if it be so, 
It is a chance that does redeem all sorrows 
That ever I have felt. 

Kent. O my good master ! [Knee'dng. 



298 SHAKSPEARIAN RE-^PER. > 

Lear. Pr'ythee, away. 

Edg. 'Tis noble Kent, your friend. 

Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all ! 
I might have sav'd her ; now she's gone for ever ! — 
Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha ! 
What is't thou say'st ? — Her voice was ever soft, 
Gentle, and low : an excellent thing in woman : — 
1 kill'd the slave that was a hanging thee. 

Off. 'Tis true, my lords, he did. 

Lear. Did I not, fellow ? 

I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion 
I would have made them skip : I am old now, 
And these same crosses spoil me. — Who are you ? 
Mine eyes are none o' the best : — I'll tell you straight. 

Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated. 
One of them we behold. 

Lear. This is a dull sight : Are you not Kent ? 

Kent. The same. 

Your servant Kent : Where is your servant Caius ? 

Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that ; 
He'll strike, and quickly too : He's dead and rotten. 

Kent. No, my good lord ; I am the very man ;— 

Lear. I'll see that straight. 

Kent. That, from your first of difference and decay, 
Have follow'd your sad steps. 

Lear. You are welcome hither. 

Kent. Nor no man else ; all's cheerless, dark, and deadly. — 
Your eldest daughters have fore-doom'd themselves. 
And desperately are dead. 

Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd ! No, no, no life : 
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, 
And thou no breath at all ? O, thou wilt come no nore. 
Never, never, never, never, never ! — 
Pray you, undo this button : Thank you, sir. — 
Do you see this ? Look on her, — look, — her lips, — 
Look there, look there ! — [i/e dies. 



MIDSUMMER-xMGHrS DREAM. 



This Play is considered by the critics to have ** all the merit of entire originality of 
■jlot and incident." The traditions of all Europe and the East, famished the leading 
dea of fairy character, while classical and mythological history has been drawn upon for 
he heroical personages. 

Our selections from thb brilliant poetical composition, are confined to the action of 
the Drama, as connected with the ** princely loves" of Theseus and Hippohta, and the 
Athenian Lovers. The humorous under-plots we are unwilhngly compelled to omit from 
want of space. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Theseus, Du'ke 0/ Athens. 
'E.GYMS, father to Hermia. 

De™us, \ ^" '"" """'^ Hermia. 
Philostrate, master of the revels to Theseus. 
QuixcE, the carpenter. 
Snug, the joiner. 
Bottom, the weaver. 
Flute, the bellows-mender. 
Snout, the tinker. 
Starveling, the tailor. 

HiPPOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons, betrothed to Theseus. 
Hermia, daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander. 
Helena, in love with Demetrius. 
Oberon, king of the fairies. 
TiTANiA, queen of the fairies. 
Puck, or Robin-goodfellow, a fairy. 
Peas-blossom, Cobweb, Moth, Mustard-seed, /a/n>5. 
Pyramus, Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine, Lion, characters in the In- 
terlude performed by the CIowtis. 

Other Fairies attending their King and Queen. 
Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyla. 

SCENE, — Athens, and a Wood not far from it. 



300 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

ACT I. 

SCENE I. — Athens. A Room in the Palace of Theseus. 
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, and Attendants. 

The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour 
Draws on apace ; four happy days bring in 
Another moon ; but, oh, methinks, how slow 
This old moon wanes ! she Hngers my desires, 
Like to a step-dame, or a dowager, 
Long withering out a young man's revenue. 

Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights ; 
Four nights will quickly dream away the time ; 
And then the moon, like to a silver bow 
Now bent in heaven, shall behold the night 
Of our solemnities. 

The. Go, Philostrate, 

Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments ; 
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth ; 
Turn melancholy forth to funerals. 

The pale companion is not for our pomp. — | Exit Philostrate. 
Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword. 
And won thy love, doing thee injuries ; 
But I will wed thee in another key. 
With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling. 

Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius. 

Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke ! 

TJie. Thanks, good Egeus : What's the news with thee ? 

Ege. Full of vexation come T, with complaint 
Against my child, my daughter Hermia. — 
Stand forth, Demetrius ; — My noble lord, 
This man hath my consent to marry her : — 
Stand forth, Lysander ; — and, my gracious duke, 
This hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child : 
Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, 
And interchang'd love-tokens with my child : 
Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung, 
With feigning voice, verses of feigning love ; 
And stol'n the impression of her fantasy 
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits, 
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats ; messengers 
Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth : 
With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart, 
Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me. 
To stubborn harshness : — And, my gracious duke. 
Be it so she will not here before your grace 



^ MIDSU3I3IER-NIGHT's DREAM. - 301 

Consent to marry with Demetrius, 
I beg the ancient privilege of Athens ; 
As she is mine, I may dispose of her : 
Which shall be either to this gentleman. 
Or to her death ; according to our law, 
Immediately provided in that case. 

The. What say you, Hermia ? he advis'd, fair maid : 
To you your father should be as a god ; 
One" that compos'd your beauties ; yea. and one 
To whom you are but as a form in wax, 
By him imprinted, and within his power 
To leave the figure, or disfigure it. 
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. • 

Her. So is Lysander. # 

The. ' In himself he is : 

But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice, 
The other must be held the worthier. 

Her. I would, my father look'd but \^dth my eyes. 

The, Rather your eyes must ^\'ith his judgment look. 

Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. 
I know not by what power I am made bold ; 
Nor hew it may concern my modesty, 
In such a presence here to plead m.y thoughts : 
But I beseech your grace that I may know 
The worst that may befal me in this case, 
If I refuse to wed Demetrius. 

The. Either to die the death, or to abjure 
For ever the society of men. 
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires. 
Know of your youth, examine well your blood, 
Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, 
You can endure the livery of a nun ; 
For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd. 
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. 
Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood, 
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage : 
But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, 
Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn, 
Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness. 

Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord. 

The. Take time to pause ; and, by the next new moon, 
(The sealing-day betwixt my love and me, 
For everlasting bond of fellowship.) 
Upon that day either prepare to die, 
For disobedience to your father's will ; 
Or else, to wed Demetrius, as he would : 
Or on Diana's altar to protest. 
For aye, austerity and single life. 



302 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia ; — And, Lysander, yield 
Thy crazed title to my certain right. 

Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius ; 
Let me have Hermia's : do you marry him. 

Ege. Scornful Lysander ! true he hath my love ; 
And what is mine my love shall render him ; 
And she is mine ; and all my right of her 
I do estate unto Demetrius. 

Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he, 
As well possess'd ; my love is more than his ; 
My fortunes every w^ay as fairly rank'd. 
If not with vantage, as Demetrius ; 
x4mdj which is more than all these boasts can be, 
I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia : 
Why should not I then prosecute my right ? 
Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head, 
Made love to Neda's daughter, Helena, 
And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes. 
Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry. 
Upon this spotted and inconstant man. 

The. I must confess, that I have heard so much, 
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof ; 
But, being over-full with self-affairs. 
My mind did lose it. — But, Demetrius, come ; 
And come, Egeus ; you shall go with me, 
I have some private schooling for you both. — 
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself 
To fit your fancies to your father's will ; 
Or else the law of Athens yields you up 
(Which by no means we may extenuate,) 
To death, or to a vow of single life. — 
Come, my Hippolyta ; What cheer, my love ? 
Demetrius, and Egeus, go along : 
I must employ you in some business 
Against our nuptial ; and confer with you 
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. 

Ege. With duty, and desire, we follow you. 

[Exeimt Thes. Hip. Ege. Dem. a7id train. 

Lys. How now, my love ? Why is your cheek so pale ? 
How chance the roses there do fade so fast ? 

Her. Belike for want of rain ; which I could well 
Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes. 

Lys. Ah me ! for aught that ever I could read, 
Could ever hear by tale or history. 
The course of true love never did run smooth : I !'[ 

But either it was different in blood, I ft 

Or else misgrafted, in respect of years : I % 

Or else it stood upon the choice of friends : 



midsummer-night's dream. 303 

Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, 
War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it ; 
Making it momentary as a sound, 
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; 
Brief as the hghtning in the collied* night, 
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, 
And ere a man hath power to say, — Behold I 
The jaws of darkness do devour it up : 
So quick bright things come to confusion. 

Her, If then true lovers have been ever cross'd, 
It stands as an edict in destiny : 
Then let us teach our trial patience, 
Because it is a customary cross ; 
As due to love, as thoughts and dreams, and sighs, 
Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers. 

Lys, A good persuasion ; therefore, hear me, Hermia, 
I have a widow aunt, a dowager 
Of great revenue, and she hath no child ; 
From Athens is her house remote seven leagues ; 
And she respects me as her only son. 
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee ; 
And to that place the sharp Athenian law 
Cannot pursue us : If thou lov'st me then. 
Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night , 
And in the wood, a league without the town, 
Where I did meet thee once with Helena, 
To do observance to a morn of May, 
There will I stay for thee. 

Her. My good Lysander ! ^ 

I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow ; 
By his best arrow with the golden head ; 
By the simplicity of Venus' doves ; 
By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves ; 
By all the vows that ever men have broke, 
In number more than ever woman spoke ; — 
In that same place thou hast appointed me. 
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. 

Lys. Keep promise, love : Look, here comes Helena. 

Enter Helena. 

Her. God speed fair Helena ! Whither away ? 

Hel. Call you me fair ? that fair again unsay. 
Demetrius loves you fair : O happy fair ! 
Your eyes are load-stars ; and your tongue's sweet air. 
More tunable than lark in shepherd's ear. 
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. 
Sickness is catching ; O, were favor so ! 

* Black. 



304 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go ; 

My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye, 

My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. 

Were the w^orld mine, Demetrius being bated. 

The rest Fll give to be to you translated. 

O, teach me how you look ; and with what art 

You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. 

Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. 

Hel. O, that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill ! 

Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. 

Hel. O, that my prayers could such affection move ! 

Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me. 

Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. 

Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. 

Hel. None, but your beauty ; 'Would that fault were mine ! 

Her. Take comfort ; he no more shall see my face ; 
Ly Sander and myself will fly this place. — 
Before the time I did Lysander see, 
Seem'd Athens like a paradise to me : 
O then, what graces in my love do dwell. 
That he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell ! 

Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold : 
To-morrow night when Phoebe doth behold 
Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass, 
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, 
(A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal.) 
Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal. 

Her. And in the wood, where often you and I 
Upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie, 
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet ; 
There my Lysander and myself shall meet : 
And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes. 
To seek new friends and stranger companies. 
Farewell, sweet playfellow ; pray thou for us, 
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius ! — 
Keep word, Lysander : we must starve our sight 
From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight. [Exit Herm. 

Lys. I will, my Hermia. — Helena, adieu : 
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! \^Exit Lys. 

Hel. How happy some, o'er other some can be ! 
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she, 
But what of that ? Demetrius thinks not so ; 
He will not know what all but he do know. 
And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes. 
So I, admiring of his qualities. 
Things base and vile, holding no quantity, 
Love can transpose to form and dignity. 
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind ; 
And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. 



midsumimer-night's dream. «^0o 

Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste ; 

Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste : 

And therefore is love said to be a child. 

Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. 

As waggish boys in games themselves forswear, 

So the boy Love is perjur'd every where ; 

For ere Demetrius lookM on Hermia's ejrne,* 

He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine ; 

And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt, 

So he dissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt. 

I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight : 

Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night, 

Pursue her; and for this intelhgence 

If I have thanks, it is a dear expense : 

But herein mean I to enrich my pain. 

To have his sight thither, and back again. [Eocii, 

ACT 11. 

SCENE I.— A Wood near Athens. 

Enter a Fairy at one door, and Puck at another. 

Puck. How now, spirit ! whither wander you ? 
Fai. Over hill, over dale. 

Thorough bush, thorough brier, 

Over park, over pale, 

Thorough flood, thorough fire. 

I do wander every where. 

Swifter than the moones sphere ; 

And I serve the fairy queen, 

To dew her orbs upon the green : 

The cowslips tall her pensioners be ; 

In their gold coats spots you see : 

Those be rubies, fairy favors, 

In those freckles live their savors : 
I must go seek some dew-drops here, 
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
Farewell, thou lobf of spirits, I'll be gone : 
Our queen and all her elves come here anon. 

Puck. The king doth keep his revels here to-night ; 
Take heed, the queen come not within his sight. 
For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, 
Because that she, as her attendant, hath 
A lovely boy stol'n from an Indian king ; 
She never had so weet a changeling : 
And jealous Oberon would have the child 
Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild : 

* Eyes. t A term of contempt. 



306 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

But she, perforce, withholds the loved boy. 
Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy : 
And now they never meet in grove, or green. 
By fountain clear or spangled star-light sheen,* 
But they do square ; that all their elves, for fear. 
Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there. 

Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making quite, 
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite, 
Call'd Robin Good-fellow : are you not he. 
That fright the maidens of the villagery ; 
Skim milk ; and sometimes labor in the quern, 
And bootless make the breathless housewife churn ; 
And sometime make the drink to bear no barm ; 
Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm ? 
Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, 
You do their work, and they shall have good luck : 
Are not you he ? 

Puck. Thou speak'st aright ; 

I am that merry wanderer of the night. 
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile, 
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, 
Neighing in likeness of a silly foal : 
And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl. 
In very likeness of a roasted crab ;f 
And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob. 
And on her wither'd dew-lap pour the ale. 
The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale. 
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me ; 
Then slip I under her, down topples she. 
And tailor cries, and falls into a cough ; 
And then the whole quire hold their hips, and lofFe ; 
And waxen in their mirth, and neeze and swear 
A merrier hour was never wasted there.— 
But room, Fairy, here comes Oberon. 

Fai. And here my mistress : — Would that he were gone ! 

Enter Oberon, at one door with his train, and Titania, at another, 
with hers. 

Ohe. Ill met by moon-light, proud Titania. 

Tita. What, jealous Oberon ? Fairy, skip hence. 

Obe. Tarry, rash wanton. 

Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy : 
And never, since the middle summer's spring, 
Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead. 
By paved fountain, or by rushy brook. 
Or on the beached margent of the sea. 
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind. 
But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport. 

* Shining. t Wild apples. 



midsuivjmer-night's dream. 307 

Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, 

As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea 

Contagious fogs ; which falUng in the land, 

Have every pelting river made so proud, 

That they have overborne their continents : 

The ox hath therefore stretched his yoke in vain, 

The ploughman lost his sweat ; and the green corn 

Hath rotted, ere his youth attain'd a beard : 

The fold stands empty in the drovN-ned field. 

And crows are fatted with the murrain flock ; 

The nine men's morris* is fill'd up with mud ; 

And the quaint mazes in the wanton green, 

For lack of tread, are undistinguishable ; 

The human mortals want their winter here ; 

No night is now with hymn or carol blest : — 

Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, 

Pale in her anger, washes all the air. 

That rheumatic diseases do abound : 

And thorough this distemperature, we see 

The seasons alter : hoar}- -headed frosts 

Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose ; 

And on old Hyems' chin, and icy crown. 

An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds 

Is, as in mockery, set : The spring, the sunmier, 

The childing autiunn, angr}' winter, change 

Their wonted liveries ; and the mazed world. 

By their increase, now knows not which is which : 

And this same progeny of e\*ils comes 

From our debate, from our dissension ; 

We are their parents and original. 

Obe. Do you amend it then : it lies in you : 
[ Why should Titania cross her Oberon ? 

I do but beg a httle changehng boy, 

To be my henchman. 

Tita. Set your heart at rest, 

The fairy land buys not the "child of me. 

His mother was a vot'ress of my order : 
ji And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, 
\\ Full often hath she gossip'd by my side ; 
L And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, 
P Marking the embarked traders on the flood ; 
^ But she, being mortal, of that boy did die, 
j^ And, for her sake, I do rear up her boy : 

And, for her sake, I will not part \\'ith him. 

Obe. How long within this wood intend you stay ? 
Tita. Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day. 

If you will patiently dance in our round, 

* Holes made for a game played by boys. 



308 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

And see our moon-light revels, go with us ; 
If not, shun me, and I wiJl spare your haunts. 

Ohe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee. 

Tita. Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away : 
We shall chide down-right if 1 longer stay. 

[Exeunt Titania, and her train, 

Ohe. Well, go thy way : thou shalt not from this grove, 
Till I torment thee for this injury. — 
My gentle Puck, come hither : Thou remember'st 
Since once I sat upon a promontory. 
And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back. 
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath. 
That the rude sea grew civil at her song ; 
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres 
To hear the sea-maid's music. 

Puck. I remember. 

Ohe. That very time I saw, (but thou could'st not,) 
Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
Cupid all arm'd : a certain aim he took , 

At a fair vestal, throned by the west ; 
And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : 
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon ; 
And the imperial vot'ress passed on, 
In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell : 
It fell upon a little western flower, — 
Before, milk-white ; now purple with love's wound, — 
And maidens call it love-in-idleness. 
Fetch me that flower ; the herb I show'd thee once ; 
The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid, 
Will make or man or woman sadly dote 
Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
Fetch me this herb : and be thou here again. 
Ere the leviathan can swim a league. 

Puck. I'll put a girdle round about the earth 
In forty minutes. \^ExU» 

Ohe. . Having once this juice, 

I'll watch Titania when she is asleep, 
And drop the liquor of it in her eyes : 
The next thing then she waking looks upon, 
(Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull. 
On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,; 
She shall pursue it with the soul of love. 
And ere I take this charm ofl* from her sight, 
(As I can take it, with another herb,) 
I'll make her render up her page to me. 



midsummer-night's dream. 309 

But who comes here ? I am invisible ; 
And I will overhear their conference. 

Demetrius is pursued by Helena, who persists in proffers of her love, which Demetriui 
still rejects. Oberon listens to their conversation. 

Fare thee well, nymph ; ere he do leave this grove. 
Thou shalt fly liim, and he shall seek thy love. — 

Re-enter Puck. 
Hast thou the flower there ? Welcome, wanderer. 

Puck. Ay. there it is. 

Ohe. I pray thee, give it me. 

I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows. 
WTiere ox-Hps and the nodding violet grows ; 
Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine, 
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine ; 
There sleeps Titania, some time of the night, 
Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight ; 
And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin, 
Weed wide enough to wTap a fair}^ in ; 
And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes. 
And make her full of hateful fantasies. 
Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove : 
A sweet Athenian lady is in love 
With a disdainful youth : anoint his eyes : 
But do it, when the next thing he espies 
May be the lady : Thou shalt know the man 
By the Athenian garments he hath on. 
Effect it with some care ; that he may prove 
More fond on her, tlian she upon her love. 

Puck mistakes Lvsander for the lover, on whom he is commissioned by Oberon to exer- 
cise his fairy spells. 

^Q^lsE,— Another part of the Wood. 
Enter Lysamder, and Her.mia. 

Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood ; 

And to speak troth, I have forgot our way ; 
We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good. 

And tarry for the comfort of the day. 

Her. Be it so, Lysander, find you out a bed, 
For I upon this bank will rest my head. 
Such separation, as, m.ay well be said. 
Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid : 
So far be distant ; and good night, sweet friend : 
Thy love ne'er alter, till thy sweet hfe end I 

Lys. Amen, Amen, to that fair prayer, say I ; 
And then end life, when I end loyalty ! 
Here is my bed : Sleep give thee all his rest I 

Her. With half that wish the wisher's eves be press'd. 

[Thev ^Icfp 



310 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 



Enter Puck. 

Puck. Through the forest have I gone. 
But Athenian found I none, 
On whose eyes I might approve 
This flower's force in stirring love. 
Night and silence ! who is here ? 
Weeds of Athens he doth wear ; 
This is he, my master said, 
Despised the Athenian maid ; 
And here the maiden, sleeping sound, 
On the dank and dirty ground. 
Pretty soul ! she durst not lie 
Near this lack-love, kill-courtesy. 
Churl, upon thy eyes I throw 
All the power this charm doth owe : 
When thou wak'st, let love forbid 
Sleep his seat on thy eye-lid. 
So awake, when I am gone ; 
For I must now to Oberon. [Exit, 

Enter Demetrius, and Helena, running. 

Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. 

Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus. 

Hel. O, wilt thou darkling leave me ? do not so. 

Dem. Stay, on thy peril ; I alone will go. [Exit Demetrius. 

Hel. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase ! 
The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. 
Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies ; 
For she hath blessed and attractive eyes. 
How came her eyes so bright ? Not with salt tears ; 
If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers 
No, no, I am as ugly as a bear ; 
For beasts that meet me, run away for fear : 
Therefore, no marvel, though Demetrius 
Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. 
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine 
Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne ?— 
But who is here ? — Lysander ! on the ground ! 
Dead ? or asleep ? I see no blood, no Avound ! — 
Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. 

Lys. And run through fire I will, for thy sweet sake. [ Waking. 
Transparent Helena ! Nature here shows art. 
That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. 
Where is Demetrius ? O, how fit a word 
Is that vile name, to perish on my sword ? 

Hel. Do not say so, Lysander ; say not so : 
What though he love your Hermia ? O, what though ? 
Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content. 



midsummer-jstight's dream. 311 

Lys. Content with Hermia ? No : I do repent 
The tedious minutes I with her have spent. 
Not Hermia, but Helena I love : 
Who will not change a raven for a dove ? 
The will of man is by his reason sway'd : 
And reason says you are the worthier maid. 
Things growing are not ripe until their season ; 
So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason ; 
And touching now the point of human skill, 
Reason becomes the marshal to my will, 
And leads me to your eyes ; where 1 o'erlook 
Love's stories, written in love's richest book. 

Hel, Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born ? 
When, at your hands, did I deserve this scorn ? 
Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, 
That I did never, no, nor never can. 
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, 
But you must flout my insufficiency ? 
Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do, 
In such disdainful manner me to woo. 
But fare you well : perforce I must confess, 
I thought you lord of more true gentleness. 
O, that a lady, of one man refus'd, 
Should, of another, therefore be abus'd ! \Exit 

Lys. She sees not Hermia : — Hermia, sleep thou there ; 
And never may'st thou come Lysander near ! 
For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things 
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings ; 
Or, as the heresies that men do leave. 
Are hated most of those they did deceive ; 
So thou, my surfeit, and my heresy, 
Of all be hated ; but the most of me .*• 
And air my powers, address your love and might. 
To honor Helen, and to be her knight ! [^Exit. 

Her. [Starting.'] Help me, Lysander, help me ! do tiy best, 
To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast ! 
Ah me, for pity ! — what a dream was here ? 
Lysander, look, how I do quake with fear ! 
Methought a serpent eat my heart away. 
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey : — 
Lysander ! what, remov'd ? Lysander ! lord ! 
What, out of hearing ? gone ? no sound, no word ? 
Alack, where are you ? speak, an if you hear ; 
Speak, of all loves ; I swoon almost with fear. 
No ? — then I well perceive you are not nigh : 
Either death, or 3^ou, I'll find immediately. [^Exit 



\ 



3J2 SHAKSPEAKIAN KEADBK. 

ACT III. 

Oberon discovers that Puck has mistaken Lysander for Demetrius, and by his magic 
charms corrects the error. 

SCENE.— A Wood. 
Demetrius [Sleeping], Lysander, and Helena. 

Lys. Why should you think, that I should woo in scorn ? 

Scorn and derision never come in tears. 
Look, when 1 vow, I weep ; and vows so born, 

In their nativity all truth appears. 
How can these things in me seem scorn to you, 
Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true ? 

Hel. You do advance your cunning more and more. 

When truth kills truth, O, matchless holy fray ! 
These vows are Hermia's ; Will you give her o'er ? 

Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh : 
Your vows, to her and me, put in two scales. 
Will even weigh ; and both as light as tales. 

Lys. I had no judgment, when to her I swore. 

Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er. 

Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. 

Dem. [Awaking.] O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine ! 
To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne ? 
Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show 
Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow ! 
That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow, 
Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow, 
When thou hold'st up thy hand : O let me kiss 
This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss ! 

Hel. O cruel spite ! I see you all are bent 
To set against me for your merriment. 
If you were civil, and knew courtesy. 
You would not do me thus much injury. 
Can you not hate me, as I know you do. 
But you must join, in souls, to mock me too ? 
If you were men, as men you are in show. 
You would not use a gentle lady so ; 
To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts. 
When, I am sure, you hate me with your hearts. 
You both are rivals, and love Hermia ; 
And now both rivals, to mock Helena ; 
A trim exploit, a manly enterprise. 
To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes, 
With your derision ! none, of noble sort. 
Would so offend a virgin ; and extort 
A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. 

Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius ; be not so ; 



MIDSUMMER night's DREAM. 313 

For you love Hermia : this, you know, I know : 
And here, with all good will, with all my heart, 
In Hermia's love 1 yield you up my nart ; 
And yours of Helena to me bequeath, 
Whom I do love, and will do till my death. 

Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. 

Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia ; I will none : 
If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone. 
My heart with her but, as guest-wise, sojourn'd ; 
And now to Helen is it home return^, 
There to remain. 

Lys. Helen, it is not so. 

Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know, 
Lest, to thy peril, thou aby* it dear. — 
Look, where thy love comes ; yonder is thy dear. 

Enter Hermia. 

Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function takes. 
The ear more quick of apprehension makes : 
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense. 
It pays the hearing double recompense : — 
Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found ; 
Mine ear, I think, it brought me to thy sound. 
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so ? 

Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth press to go ? 

Her. What love could press Lysander from my side ? 

Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let him bide. 
Fair Helena ; who more engilds the night 
Than all yon fiery oesf and eyes of light. 
Why seek'st thou me ? could not this make thee know, 
The hate I bear thee made me leave thee so ? • 

Her. You speak not as you think ; it cannot be. 

Hel. Lo, she is one of this confederacy ! 
Now I perceive they have conjoin'd, all three, 
To fashion this false sport in s'pite of me. 
Injurious Hermia ! most ungrateful maid ! 
Have you conspir'd, have you with these ^ontriv'd 
To bait me with this foul derision ? 
Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd, 
The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent. 
When we have chid the hasty-footed time 
For parting us, — O, and is all forgot ? 
All schooldays' friendship, childhood innocence? 
We, Hermia, like two artificial gods. 
Have with our neeldsj created both one flower, 
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, 
Both warbling of one song, both in one key ; 
As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds, 

* Pav dearlv for it t Circles. % Needlet. 

15 



314 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Had been incorporate. So we grew together, 
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted ; 
But yet a union in partition, 
Two lovely berries moulded on one stem : 
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart ; 
, Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, 
Due but to one, and crowned with one crest. 
And wiU you rend our ancient love asunder, 
To join with men in scorning your poor friend ? 
It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly : 
Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it ; 
Though I alone do feel the injury. 

ACT IV. 

Oberon directs Puck to cast the lovers into a *' death counterfeiting sleep," and tlien 
to disenchant Lysander, so that when they wake, all the mistakes shall seem a dream. 

SCENE. — A Wood. Lysakder, Demetrius, Hermia, and He- 
lena, discovered sleeping. 

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and train. 

The. Go, one of you, find out the forester ; — 
For now our observation is perform'd ; 
And since we have the vaward of the day, 
My love shall hear the music of my hounds. — 
Uncouple in the western valley ; go :— 
Despatch, I say, and find the forester. — 
We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top, 
And mark the musical confusion 
Of hounds and echo in conjunction. 

Hip. I was with Hercules, and Cadmus, once, 
When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear 
With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear 
Such gallant chiding ; for, besides the groves. 
The skies, the fountains, every region near 
Seem'd all one mutual cry : I never heard 
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. 

The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, 
So flew'd, so sanded ; and their heads are hung 
With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; 
Crook-knee'd and dew-lap'd like Thessalian bulls ; 
Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth-like bells, 
Each under each. A cry more tunable 
Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn. 
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : 
Judge, when you hear. But soft ; what nymphs are these ? 

Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep ; 
And this, Lysander ; tKis Demetrius is ; 



midsummer-night's dream. ^\d 

This Helena, old Neda's Helena : 

I wonder of their being here together. 

The. No doubt, they rose up early, to observe 
The rite of May ; and, hearing our intent, 
Come here in grace of our solemnity. — 
But, speak, Egeus ; is not this the day 
That Hermia should give answer of her choice ? 

Ege. It is, my lord. 

The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns. 

Horns and shout within. Demetrius, Lysander, Hermia, and 
Helena, wake and start up. 

The. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past ; 
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now ? 

Lys. Pardon, my lord. [He and the rest kneel to Theseus. 

The. I pray you all stand up. 

I know, you are two rival enemies ; 
How comes this gentle concord in the world. 
That hatred is so far from jealousy, 
To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity ? 

Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedly. 
Half 'sleep, half waking : But as yet, I swear, 
I cannot truly say how I came here : 
But, as I think, (for truly would I speak, — 
And now I do bethink me, so it is ;) 
I came with Hermia hither : our intent 
Was, to be gone from Athens, where we might be 
Without the peril of the Athenian law. 

Ege. Enough, enough, my lord ; you have enough. 
I beg the law, the law upon his head. — 
They would have stol'n away, they would, Demetrius, 
Thereby to have defeated you and me : 
You, of your wife ; and me, of my consent ; 
Of my consent that she should be your wife. 

Dem. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth, 
Of this their purpose hither, to this wood ; 
And I in fury hither follow'd them ; 
Fair Helena in fancy following me. 
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, 
(But, by some power it is,) my love to Hermia, 
Melted as doth the snow, seems to me now 
As the remembrance of an idle gawd. 
Which in my childhood I did dote upon : 
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart. 
The object, and the pleasure of mine eye. 
Is only Helena. To her, my lord, 
Was J betroth'd ere I saw Hermia ; 
But, like in sickness, did I loathe this food : 
But as in health, come to my natural taste, 



316 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Now do I wish it, love it, long for it, 
And will for evermore be true to it. 

The. Fair flowers, you are fortunately met : 
Of this discourse we more will hear anon. — 
Egeus, I will overbear your will ; 
For in the temple, by and by with us, 
These couples shall eternally be knit. 
And, for the morning now is something worn, 
Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside. — 
Away, with us, to Athens : Three and three, 
We'll hold a feast in great solemnity. 
Come, Hippolyta. 

[Exeunt Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and train. 

Dem. These things seem small and undistinguishable, 
Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. 

Her. Methinks I see these things with parted eye- 
When every thing seems double. 

Hel. So, methinks : 

And I have found Demetrius like a jewel, 
Mine own, and not mine own. 

Dem. It seems to me, 

That yet we sleep, we dream. — Do not you think, 
The duke was here, and bid us follow him ? 

Her. Yea ; and my father. 

Hel. And Hippoljrta. 

Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple. 

Dem. Why then, we are awake : let's follow^ him ; 
And, by the way, let us recount our dreams. [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — The same. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus. 
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords, and Attendants. 

Hi/p, 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of. 

The. More strange than true. I never may believe 
These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. 
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, 
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend 
More than cool reason ever comprehends. 
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, 
Are of imagination all compact : 
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold ; 
That is, the madman : the lover, all as frantic, 
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt : 
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling. 
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, 
And, as imagination bodies forth 



midsummer-night's dream. 317 

The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 
A local habitation, and a name. 
Such tricks hath strong imagination ; 
That, if it would but apprehend some joy, 
It comprehends some bringer of that joy ; 
Or, in the night, imagining some fear, 
How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear ? 

Hip. But all the story of the night told over, 
And all their minds transfigured so together. 
More witnesseth than fancy's images. 
And grows to something of great constancy ; 
But, howsoever, strange, and admirable. 

Enter Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena. 

The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. — 
Joy, gentle friends ! joy, and fresh days of love. 
Accompany your hearts. 

The Play ends with a masque by the comic personages of the Drama. 



I 



JULIUS CJ]SAIl. 



In tLis noble composition. Shakspeare has shown himself equally great, in dramatizing 
a celebrated portion of Classic History, as he is in adapting incidents gathered from ro- 
mantic story, or the wonders of legendary fiction. 

In Julius Caesar, he has been chiefly indebted to Plutarch for liis materials, and it is no 
mean praise awarded to him by his commentators, that he has caught the spirit of his 
great original. 

The principal characters are veritable Plutarchian embodiments. Caesar, Brutus, Cas- 
sius, and Antony, are clothed with even more individuality of character, than they are 
depicted by the celebrated Greek Biographer. 

" The real length of time in Julius Caesar is as follows : About the middle of February, 
B. C. 709, a frantic festival, sacred to Pan, and called Lupercalia, was held in honor 
of Caesar, when the regal crown was offered to him by Antony. On the loth of March in 
the same year, he was slain. November 27, B. C. 710, the triumvirs met at a small 
island, formed by the river Rhenus, near Bonoma, and there adjusted their cruel proscrip- 
tion. — B. C. 711, Brutus and Cassius were defeated near Philippi." 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Julius C^sar. 

OcTAvius Cjesar, i 

Marcus Antonius, > triummrs after the death of Julius Caesar. 

M. ^MiL. Lepidus, S 

Cicero, Publius, Popilius Lena ; senators. 

Marcus Brutus, Casca, v 

Cassius, Trebonius, f . . • ^ t i- /-< 

T^ V) T / conspirators against Julius Caesar. 

Decius Brutus, Ligarius, i ^ = 

Metellus Cimber, Cinna, ^ 

Flavius and Marullus, tribunes. 

Artemidorus, a sophist of Cnidos. 

A Soothsayer. Ckxna, a imet. Another Poet. 

LuciLius, TiTiNius, Messala, young Cato, and Volumnius ; 

friends to Brutus and Cassius. 
Varro, Clitus, Claudius, Strato, Lucius, Dardanius ; servants 

to Bmtus, 
PiNDARUS, servant to Cassius. 

Calphurnia, wife to Caesar. 
Portia, wife to Brutus. 

Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, ^c. 

SCENE, — during a great part of the Play, at Rome ; afterwards at 

Sardis ; and near Philippi. 



JULIUS C^SAR. • 319 



ACT I. 



SCENE I.— Rome. A Street. 
Enter Flavius, Marullus. and a rabhie of Citizens. 

Flav. Hence ; hom^ you idle creatures, get you home ; 
Is this a holiday ? What ! know you not. 
Being mechanical, you ought not walk, 
Upon a laboring day, without the sign 
Of your profession ? — Speak, what trade art thou ? 

1st Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter. 

Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule ? 
What dost thou with thy best apparel on ? — 
Yoa, sir ; what trade are you ? 

2nd Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a hue workman, I am but, as you 
would say, a cobbler. 

Mar. But what trade art thou ? Answer me directly. 

2nd Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe con- 
science ; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. 

Mar. What trade, thou knave, thou naughty knave, what trade ? 

2jid Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me : yet, if you 
be out, sir, I can mend you. 

Mar. What meanest thou by that ? Mend me, thou saucy fellow ? 

2nd Cit. Why, sir, cobble you. 

Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou ? 

27id Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is, with the awl : I meddle 
with no tradesman's matters. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old 
shoes ; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper 
men as ever trod up n neats-leather, have gone upon my handy-work. 

Flav. But wlierefore art not in thy shop to-day ? 
Why dost thou lead these men about the streets ? 

2nd Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into 
more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Caesar, and 
to rejoice in his triumph. 

Mar. Wherefore rejoice ? What conquest brings he home ? 
What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
To grace in captive bonds his chariot v.'heels ? 
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things ! 
O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, 
Knew you not Pompey ? Many a time and oft 
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, 
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, 
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat 
The live-long day, with patient expectation. 
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome : 
And when you saw his chariot but appear, 
Have you not made an universal shout, 



320 • SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, 

To hear the replication of your sounds, 

Made in her concave shores ? 

And do you now put on your best attire ? 

And do you now cull out a holiday ? 

And do you now strew flowers in his way, 

That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood ? 

Be gone ! 

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, 

Pray to the -gods to intermit the plague 

That needs must Hght on this ingratitude. 

Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, 
Assemble all the poor men of your sort ; 
Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears 
Into the channel, till the lowest stream 

Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. \^Exit Citizens. 

See, whe'r their basest metal be not movM ; 
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. 
Go you down that way towards the Capitol ; 
This way will I : Disrobe the images. 
If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. 

Mar. May we do so ? 
You know, it is the feast of Lupercal. 

Flav. It is no matter ; let no images 
Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about, 
And drive away the vulgar from the streets : 
So do you too, where you perceive them thick. 
These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing, 
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch ; 
Who else would soar above the view of men, 
And keep us all in servile fearfulness. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— T/ie same. A public Place. 

Enter, in procession, with music, Cjesar ; Antony, for the course ; 
Calfhurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, and 
Casca, a great crowd following ; among them a Soothsayer. 

Sooth. Caesar. 

CcBS. Who is it in the press, that calls on me ? 
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music. 
Cry, Caesar : speak ; Caesar is turn'd to hear. 

Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 

CcBS. What man is that ? 

Bru. A soothsayer, bids you beware the ides of March. 

Cccs. Set him before me, let me see his face. 

Cas. Fellow, come from the throng : Look upon Caesar. 

Cces. What say'st thou to me now ? Speak once again. 

Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 321 

CcBS, He is a dreamer ; let us leave him ; — pass. 

[Exeunt all but Brutus and Cassius. 

Cas. Will you go see the order of the course ? 

Bru, Not I. 

Cas. I pray you, do. 

Bru. I am not gamesome : I do lack some part 
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. 
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires ; 
I'll leave you. 

Cas. Brutus, I do observe you nov/ of late : 
I have not from your eyes that gentleness, 
And show of love, as I was wont to have : 
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand 
Over your friend that loves you. 

Bru. Cassius, 

Be not deceiv'd : If I have veil'd my look, 
I turn the trouble of my countenance 
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am. 
Of late, with passions of some difference, 
Conceptions only proper to myself. 
Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviors : 
But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd ; 
(Among which number, Cassius, be you one ;) 
Nor construe any further my neglect. 
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, 
Forgets the shows of love to other men. 

Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion : 
By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried 
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. 
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face ? 

Bru. No, Cassius : for the eye sees not itself, 
But by reflection, by some other things. 

Cas. 'Tis just : 
And it is very much lamented, Brutus, 
That you have no such mirrors, as will turn 
Your hidden worthiness into your eye, 
That you might see your shadow. I have heard, 
Where many of the best respect in Rome, 
(Except immortal Caesar,) speaking of Brutus, 
And groaning underneath this age's yoke, 
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. 

Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, 
That you would have me seek into myself 
For that which is not in me ? 

Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear : 
And, since you know you cannot see yourself 
So well as by reflection, I, your glass. 
Will modestly discover to yourself 
That of yourself which you yet know not of. 



322 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus : 

Were I a common laugher, or did use 

To stale with ordinary oaths my love 

To every new protester ; if you know 

That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard, 

And after scandal them ; or if you know 

That I profess myself in banqueting 

To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. [Flourish and shout. 

Bru. What means this shouting ? I do fear, the people 
Choose Caesar for their king. 

Cas. Ay, do you fear it ? 

Then must I think you would not have it so. 

Bru. I would not, Cassius ; yet I love him well : — 
But wherefore do you hold me here so long ? 
What is it that you would impart to me ? 
If it be aught toward the general good, 
Set honor in one eye, and death i' the other, 
And I will look on both indifferently : 
For, let the gods so speed me, as I love 
The name of honor more than I fear death. 

Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, 
As well as I do know your outward favor. 
Well, honor is the subject of my story. — 
I cannot tell, what you and other men 
Think of this life ; but, for my single self, 
I had as lief not be, as live to be 
In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
I was born free as Caesar ; so were you : 
We both have fed as well ; and we can both 
Endure the winter's cold, as well as he. 
For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 
The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, 
Caesar said to me. Barest thou, Cassius, now 
Leap in with me into this angry flood, 
And swim to yonder point ? — Upon the word. 
Accouter'd as I was, I plunged in. 
And bade him follow : so, indeed, he did. 
The torrent roar'd ; and we did buffet it 
With lusty sinews ; throwing it aside 
And stemming it with hearts of controversy. 
But ere we could arrive the point propos'd, 
Caesar cry'd. Help me, Cassius, or I sink. 
I, as JGneas, our great ancestor. 
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 
The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tiber 
Did I the tir'd C«sar : And this man 
Is now become a god ; and Cassius is 
A wretched creature, and must bend his body, 
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 



T 



JULIUS CJESAR. 323 

He had a fever when he was in Spain, 

And, when the fit was on him, I did mark 

How he did shake : 'tis true, this god did shake. 

His coward lips did from their color fly ; 

And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, 

Did lose his lustre : I did hear him groan : 

Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 

Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 

Alas ! it cried. Give me some drink, Titinius, 

As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 

A man of snch a feeble temper should 

So get the start of the majestic world, 

And bear the palm alone. [Shout, Flourish. 

Bru. Another general shout ! 
I do believe, that these applauses are 
For some new honors that are heap'd on Caesar. 

Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world, 
Like a Colossus ; and we petty men 
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about 
To find ourselves dishonorable graves. 
Men at some time are masters of their fates : 
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
Brutus, and Caesar : What should be in that Caesar ? 
Why should that name be sounded more than yours ? 
Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; 
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ; 
Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with them, 
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. [Shout, 

Now in the names of all the gods at once, 
Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed. 
That he is grown so great ? Age, thou art sham'd ; 
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 
When went there by an age, since the great flood, 
But it was fam'd with more than with one man ? 
When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome, 
That her wide walks encompass'd but one man ? 
O ! you and I have heard our fathers say. 
There was a Brutus once, that would have brook'd 
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome, 
As easily as a king. 

Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous ; 
What you would work me to, I have some aim ; 
How I have thought of this, and of these times, 
I shall recount hereafter ; for this present, 
I would not, so with love I might entreat you, 
Be any further mov'd. What you have said, 
I will consider ; what you have to say, 
I will with patience hea ' : and find a time 



S24 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Both meet to hear, and answer, such high things. 

Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this ; 

Brutus had rather be a villager, 

Than to repute himself a son of Rome 

Under these hard conditions as this time 

Is like to lay upon us. 

Cas. I am glad, that my weak words 
Have struck but thus much show^ of fire from Brutus. 

Re-enter Caesar, and his Train. 

Bru. The games are done, and Czesar is returning. 

Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve ; 
And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you 
What hath proceeded, worthy note, to-day. 

Bru. I will do so: — But, look you, Cassius, 
The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, 
And all the rest look like a chidden train : 
Calphurnia's cheek is pale ; and Cicero 
Looks wath such ferret and such fiery eyes, 
As we have seen him in the Capitol, 
Being cross'd in conference by some senators. 

Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is. 

Cccs. Antonius. 

Ant. Caesar. 

CcES. Let me have men about me that are fat ; 
Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights : 
Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look ; 
He thinks too much : such men are dangerous. 

Ant. Fear him not, Caesar, he's not dangerous ; 
He is a noble Roman, and well given. 

CcEs. 'Would he w^ere fatter : — But I fear him not : 
Yet if my name were liable to fear, 
I do not know the man I should avoid 
So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much. 
He is a great observer ; and he looks 
Quite through the deeds of men ; he loves no plays. 
As thou dost, Antony ; he hears no music : 
Seldom he smiles ; and smiles in such a sort. 
As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit 
That could be mov'd to smile at any thing. 
Such men as he be never at heart's ease. 
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves ; 
And therefore are they very dangerous. 
I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd, 
Than w^hat I fear, for always I am Caesar. 
Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf. 
And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. 

[Exeunt Caesar and Ms Train. Casca stays behind. 
Casca. You pull'd me by the cloak ; Would ou speak with me ? 



JULIUS C^SAR. 325 

Bru, Ay, Casca ; tell us what hath chanc'd to-day. 
That Caesar looks so sad ? 

Casca. Why you were with him, were you not ? 

Bru. I should not then ask Casca what hath chanc'd. 

Casca, Why, there was a crown offered him : and being offered 
him, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus ; and then the 
people fell a' shouting. 

Bru. What was the second noise for ? 

Casca. Why, for that too. 

Cas. They shouted thrice ; What was the last cry for ? 

Casca. Why, for that too. 

Bru. Was the crown offer'd him thrice ? 

Casca. Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, every time 
gentler than other ; and at every putting by, mine honest neighbors 
shouted. 

Cas. Who offer'd him the crown ? 

Casca. Why, Antony. 

Bru. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. 

Casca. I can as well be hanged, as tell the manner of it : it was 
mere foolery. I did not mark it. T saw Mark Antony offer him a 
crown ; — yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets ; 
—and, as I told you, he put it by once ; but, for all that, to my think- 
ing, he would fain have had it. Then he offered it to him again ; 
then he put it by again ; but, to my thinking, he was very loath to 
lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it a third time ; Iffe put it 
the third time by : and still as he refused it, the rabblement hooted, 
and clapped their chapped hands, and threw up their sweaty night- 
caps, and uttered such a deal of stinking breath, because Csesar re- 
fused the crown, that it had almost choked Caesar ; for he swooned, 
and fell down at it. 

Cas. But, soft, I pray you : What ? Did Csesar swoon ? 

Casca. He fell down in the market-place, and foamed at mouth, 
and was speechless. 

Bru. 'Tis very like : he hath the falling-sickness. 

Cas. No, Caesar hath it not ; but you, and I, 
And honest Casca, we have the falling-sickness. 

Casca. I know not what you mean by that ; but, I am sure, Caesar 
fell down. If the tag-rag people did not clap him, and hiss him, 
according as he pleased and displeased them, as they use to do the 
players in the theatre, I am no true man. 

Bru. What said he, when he came unto himself? 

Casca, Marry, before he fell down, when he perceived the com- 
mon herd was glad he refused the crown, he pluck'd me ope his 
doublet, and offered them his throat to cut — an I had been a man 
of any occupation, I would have taken him at a word — and so he 
felL When he came to himself again, he said, If he had done, or 
said, any thing amiss, he desired their worships to think it was his 
infirmity. 

Bru. And after that, he came, thus sad, away ? 



326 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Casca. Ay. 

Cas. Did Cicero say any thing ? 

Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek. 

Cas. To what effect ? 

Casca. Nay, an I tell yon that, I'll ne'er look you i' the face 
again : But those, that understood him, smiled at one another, and 
shook their heads : but, for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I 
could tell you more new^s too : Marullus and Flavins, for pulling 
scarfs off Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well. There 
was more foolery yet, if I could remember it. 

Cas. Will you sup with me to-night, Casca ? 

Casca. No, I am promised forth. 

Ca$^ Will you dine with me to-morrow ? 

Casca. Ay, if I be ahve, and your mind hold, and your dinner 
worth the eating. 

Cas. Good ; I will expect you. 

Casca. Do so : Farewell, both. [Exit Casca. 

Bru. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be ? 
He was quick mettle, when he went to school. 

Cas. So is he now, in execution 
Of any bold or noble enterprise. 
However he puts on this tardy form. 
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit. 
Which ^'ives men stomach to digest his w^ords 
With better appetite. 

Bru. And so it is. For this time I will leave you : 
To-morro\v, if you please to speak with me, 
I will come home to you ; or, if you will. 
Come home to me, and I will w^ait for you. 

Cas. I will do so : — till then, think of the w^orld. [Exit Brutus. 
Well, Brutus, thou art noble ; yet, I see, 
Thy honorable metal may be wrought 
From that it is dispos'd : Therefore, 'tis meet 
That noble minds keep ever with their likes : 
For who so firm, that cannot be seduc'd ? 
Caesar doth bear me hard : But he loves Brutus : 
If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius, 
He should not humor me. I will this night. 
In several hands, in at his windows throw, 
As if they came from several citizens, 
Writings, aJl tending to the great opinion 
That Rome holds of his name ; wherein obscurely, 
Caesar's ambition shall be glanc'd at : 
And, after this, let Caesar seat him sure ; 
For we will shake him, or w^orse days endure, [Exit, 



JULIUS CjEsar. 327 



ACT II. 

Cassius writes certain anonymous papers to Brutus, instigating him to join with the 
conspirators ; these are secretly conveyed by Cinna, and are found by Brutus. 

In the morning, the whole of the conspirators, headed by Cassius, repair to Brutus, to 
urge their solicitations personally. 

SCENE. — The same. Bmtus's Orchard. 

Enter Brutus. 

Bru, What, Lucius ! ho ! — 
I cannot, by the progress of the stars, 
Give guess how near to day. — Lucius, I say I — 
I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. — 
When, Lucius, when ? awake, I say : What, Lucius ! 

Enter Lucius. 

Luc. Caird you, my lord ? 

Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius : 
When it is lighted, come and call me here. 

Luc. I will, my lord. [Exit. 

Bru. It must be by his death : and, for my part, 
I know no personal cause to spurn at him, 
But for the general. He would be crown'd : — 
How that might change his nature, there's the question. 
It is the bright day, that brings forth the adder ; 
And that craves wary walking. Crown him ? — That ; — 
And then, I grant, we put a sting in him. 
That at his will he may do danger with. 
The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins 
Remorse from power : And to speak truth of Caesar, 
I have not known when his affections sway'd 
More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof, 
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder. 
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face : 
But when he once attains the utmost round. 
He then unto the ladder turns his back, 
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 
By which he did ascend : So Caesar may ; 
Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel 
Will bear no color for the thing he is, 
Fashion it thus ; that what he is, augmented. 
Would run to these and these extremities : 
And therefore think him as a serpent's egg^ 
Which, hatch 'd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous ; 
And kill him in the shell. 



828 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 



Re-enter Lucius. 

Luc. The taper burneth in your closet, sir. 
Searching the window for a flint, I found 
This paper, thus seal'd up ; and, 1 am sure, 
It did not he there, when I went to bed. 

Brii. Get you to bed again, it is not day. 
Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March ? 

Luc. I know not, sir. 

Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me word. 

Luc. I will, sir. \^ExiU 

Bru. The exhalations, whizzing in the air. 
Give so much light, that I may read by them. 

\_Opens the letter^ and reads, 
Brutus^ tJiou sleep^st ; awake, and see thyself. 
Shall Rome, cf-c. Speak, strike, redress ! 

Brutus, thou sleep' st ; awake, 

Such instigations have been often dropp'd 
Where I have took them up. 
Shall Rome, <^c. Thus must I piece it out ; 
Shall Rome stand under one man's awe ? What ! Rome ? 
My ancestors did from the streets of Rome 
The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 
Speak, strike, redress ! — Am I entreated then 
To speak, and strike ? O Rome ! I make thee promise, 
If the redress will follow, thou receiv'st 
. Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus ! 

Re-enter Lucius. 

Luc. Sir, March is wasted fourteen days. {Knock within. 

Bru. 'Tis good. Go to the gate : somebody knocks. 

\^Exit Lucius. 
Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar, 
I have not slept. 

Between the acting of a dreadful thing, 
And the first motion, all the interim is 
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream : 
The genius, and the mortal instruments 
Are then in council ; and the state of man, 
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
The nature of an insurrection. 

Re-enter Lucius. 

Luc. Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door. 
Who doth desire to see you. 

Bru. Is he alone ? 

Luc. No, sir, there are more with him. 

Bru. Do you know them ? 

Luc, No, sir ; their hats are pluck'd about their ears. 



J 



JULIUS C^SAR. - 329 

And half their faces buried in their cloaks, 
That by no means I may discover them 
By any mark of favor. 

Bru, Let them enter. [^Exit Lucius. 

They are the faction ! O conspiracy ! 
Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night, 
When evils are most free ? O, then, by day. 
Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 
To mask thy monstrous visage ? Seek none, conspiracy ! 
Hide it in smiles and affability : 
For if thou put thy native semblance on. 
Not Erebus itself were dim enough 
To hide thee from prevention. 

Enter Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna, Metellus Cimber, and 
Trebonius. 

Cas. I think we are too bold upon your rest : 
Good morrow, Brutus. Do we trouble you ? 

Bru. I have been up this hour ; awake, all night. 
Know I these m_en, that come along with you ? 

Cas. Yes, every man of them ; and no man here. 
But honors you : and every one doth wish, 
You had but that opinion of yourself 
Which every noble Roman bears of you. 
This is Trebonius. 

Bru, He is welcome hither. 

Cas. This, Decius Brutus. 

Bru. He is welcome too. 

Cas. This, Casca ; this, Cinna ; 
And this, Metellus Cimber. 

Bru. They are all welcome. 

What watchful cares do interpose themselves 
Betwixt your eyes and night ? 
Give me your hands all over, one by one. 

Cas. And let us swear our resolution. 

Bru. No, not an oath : If not the face of men, 
The sufierance of our souls, the time's abuse, — 
If these be motives weak, break off betimes, 
And every man hence to his idle bed ; 
So let high-sighted tyranny range o^ 
Till each man drop by lottery. But if these, 
As I am sure they do, bear fire enough 
To kindle cowards, and to steel with valor 
The melting spirits of women ; then, countrymen, 
What need we any spur but our own cause, 
To urge us to redress ? 

Cas. But what of Cicero ? Shall we sound him ? 
I think, he will stand very strong with us. 

Casca. Let us not leave him out. 



-M 



330 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Cin. No, by no means. 

Met. O let us have him ; for his silver hairs 
Will purchase us a good opinion, 
And buy men's voices to commend our deeds. 

Bru. O, name him not ; let us not break with him : 
For he will never follow any thing 
That other men begin. 

Cas. Then leave him out. 

Casca. Indeed, he is not fit. 

Dec. Shall no man else be touch'd but only Caesar ? 

Cas. Decius, well urg'd : — I think it is not meet, 
Mark Antony, so well belov'd of Caesar, 
Should outHve Caesar : We shall find of him 
A shrewd contriver ; and, you know his means, 
If he improve them, may well stretch so far 
As to annoy us all : which to prevent. 
Let Antony, and Caesar, fall together. 

Srw. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius, 
To cut the head off, and then hack the limbs ; 
Like wrath in death, and envy afterwards : 
For Antony is but a limb of Caesar. 
Let us be sacrificers, but no butchers, Caius. 
We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar ; 
And in the spirit of men there is no blood : 
O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit, 
And not dismember Caesar ! But, alas, 
Caesar must bleed for it ! And, gentle friends, 
Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully ; 
Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, 
Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds : 
And let our hearts, as subtle masters do. 
Stir up their servants to an act of rage, 
And after seem to chide them. This shall make 
Our purpose necessary, and not envious : 
Which so appearing to the common eyes. 
We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. 
And for Mark Antony, think not of him ; 
For he can do no more than Caesar's arm, 
When Caesar's head is oiT. 

Cas. YetJ[ do fear him ; 
For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar, 

Bru, Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him : 
If he love Caesar, all that he can do 
Is to himself ; take thought, and die for Caesar : 
And that were much he should ; for he is given 
To sports, to wildness, and much company. 

Treb. There is no fear in him ; let him not die ; 
For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter, [Clock strikes, 

Bru. Peace, count the clock. 



JULIUS CjESAR. 33 

Cas. The clock hath stricken three. 

lYeb. Tis time to part. 

Cas. But it is doubtful yet, 

Whether Caesar will come forth to-day, or no : 
For he is superstitious grown of Late : 
Quite from the main opinion he held once 
Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies : 
It may be, these apparent prodigies. 
The unaccustom'd terror of this night. 
And the persuasion of his auguries. 
May hold him from the Capitol to-day. 

Dec. Never fear that : If he be so resolv'd, 
I can o'ersway him : for he loves to hear, 
That unicorns may be betray'd with trees, 
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes. 
Lions with toils, and men with flatterers : 
But, when I tell him, he hates flatterers, 
He says, he does ; being then most flattered. 
Let me work : 

For I can give his hum.or the true bent ; 
And I will bring him to the Capitol. 

Cas. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him. 

Bru. By the eighth hour : Is that the uttermost ? 

Cin. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. 

Cas. The morning comes upon us : We'll leave you, Brutus : — 
And, friends, disperse yourselves : but all remember 
What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans. 

Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily ; 
Let not our looks put on our purposes : 
But bear it as our Roman actors do. 
With untir'd spirits, and formal constancy : 

And so, good-morrow to you every one. [Exeunt all but Brutus. 
Boy ! Lucius ! — Fast asleep ? It is no matter ; 
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber : 
Thou hast no figures, nor no fantasies. 
Which busy care draws in the brains of men : 
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. 

Eniei' Portia. 

Por. Brutus, my lord ! 

Bru. Portia, what mean you ? Wherefore rise you now ? 
It is not for your health, thus to commit 
Your weak condition to the raw-cold morning. 

Por. Nor for yours neither. You have ungently, Brutus, 
Stole from my room : And yesternight, at supper, 
You suddenly arose, and walked about. 
Musing and sighing, with your arms across : 
And when I ask'd you what the matter was, 
You star'd upon me with ungentle looks : 



332 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

I urg'd you further ; then you scratch'd your head, 
And too impatiently stamped with your foot : 
Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not ; 
But, with an angry wafture of your hand, 
Gave sign for me to leave you : So I did ; 
Fearing to strengthen that impatience. 
Which seem'd too much enkindled ; and, withal, 
Hoping it was but an effect of humor 
Which sometimes hath his hour with every man. 
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep ; 
And, could it work so much upon your shape, 
As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, 
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear, my lord, 
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. 

Bru. I am not well in health, and that is all. 

Po7\ Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health. 
He would embrace the means to come by it. 

Bru. Why, so I do : Good Portia, leave me. 

Por. Is Brutus sick ? and is it physical 
To walk unbraced, and suck up the humors 
Of the dank morning ? What, is Brutus vsick ; 
And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, 
To dare the vile contagion of the night ? 
And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air 
To add unto his sickness ? No, my Brutus ; 
You have some sick offence within your mind. 
Which, by the right and virtue of my place, 
I ought to know of : And, upon my knees, 
I charm you, by my once commended beauty. 
By all your vows of love, and that great vow 
Which did incorporate and make us one. 
That you unfold to me, yourself, your half. 
Why you are heavy ; and what men to-night 
Have had resort to you : for here have been 
Some six or seven, who did hide their faces 
Even from darkness. 

Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia. 

Por. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. 
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, 
Is it excepted, I should know no secrets 
That appertain to you ? Am I yourself, 
But, as it were, in sort or limitation ? 

Bru. You are my true and honorable wife : 
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops 
That visit my sad heart. 

Por. If this were true, then should I know this secret. 
I grant, I am a w^oman ; but, withal, 
A woman that lord Brutus took to wife : 
I grant, I am a woman ; but, withal, 



JULIUS C^SAR. 383 



A woman well reputed ; Cato's daughter. 
Think you, I am no stronger than my sex. 
Being so father d, and so husbanded ? 
Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them : 
I have made strong proof of my constancy, 
Giving myself a voluntary wound. — 
Can I bear that with patience, 
And not my husband's secrets ? 

Bru. O ye gods 

Render me worthy of this noble wife ! 
Portia, go in a while ; 
And, by and by thy bosom shall partake 
The secrets of my heart. 
All my engagements I will construe to thee, 
All the charactery of my sad brows : — 
Leave me with haste. 



ACT III. 

On the day arranged by the conspirators, for the assassination of Caesar, he is persuaded 
by Calphurnia and the Augurers, not to go forth to the Capitol. He resists all their warn- 
ings, and departs with Antony, Brutus, &c., to keep his appointment. 

SCENE I.—Tke Capitol ; the Senate siiiing. 

A crowd of people in the street leading to the Capitol ; among them, 
Artemidorus, and the Soothsayer. Flourish. Enter C^sar, 
Brutus, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Metellus, Trebonius, Cinna, 
Antony, Lepidus, Popilius, Publius, and others, 

CcDS. The ides of March are come. 

Sooth. Ay, Caesar ; but not gone. 

Art. Hail, Caesar ! Read this schedule. 

Dec. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er-read, 
At your best leisure this his humble suit. 

Art. O, Caesar, read mine first ; for mine's a suit 
That touches Caesar nearer : Read it, great Caesar. 

CcBs. What touches us ourself, shall be last serv'd. 

Art. Delay not, Caesar ; read it instantly. 

C(Bs. What, is the fellow mad ? 

Pub. Sirrah, give place. 

Cas. What, urge you your petitions in the street ? 
Come to the Capitol. 

C^SAR enters the Capitol, the rest following. All the Senators rise. 

Pop. I wish, your enterprise to-day may thrive. 

Cas. What enterprise, Popiiius ? 

Pop, Fare you well. [Advances to Caesar. 

Bru. What said Popiiius Lena '^ 



334 SHAKSPEAKIAN READER. 

Cas. He wish'd, to-day our enterprise might thrive. 
I fear, our purpose is discovered. 

Bru. Look, how he makes to Caesar : Mark him. 

Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. — 
Brutus, what shall be done ? If this be known, 
Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back, 
For I will slay myself. 

Bru. Cassius be constant ; 

Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes ; 
For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. 

Cas. Trebonius knows his time ; for, look you, 
He draws Mark Antony out of the way. 

[Exeunt Antony and Trebonius. C^sar and the Senators take 

their seats. 

Dec. Where is Metellus Cimber ? Let him go, 
And presently prefer his suit to Caesar. 

Bim. He is address'd : press near, and second him. 

Cin. Casca, you are the first that rears your hand. 

CcBs. Are we all ready ? what is now amiss. 
That Caesar, and his senate, must redress ? 

Met. Most high, most mighty, and most puissant Caesar, 
Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat 
An humble heart : — [Kneeling, 

C(ES. t must prevent thee, Cimber. 

These couchings, and these lowly courtesies. 
Might fire the blood of ordinary men ; 
And turn pre-ordinance, and first decree, 
Into the law of children. Be not fond. 
To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood, 
That will be thaw'd from the true quality 
With that which melteth fools ; I mean sweet words, 
Low crooked curt'sies, and base spaniel fawning. 
Thy brother by decree is banished ; 
If thou dost bend, and pray, and iawn, for him, 
I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. 
Know, Caesar doth not wrong : nor without cause 
Will he be satisfied. 

Met. Is there no voice more worthy than my own. 
To sound more sweetly in great -Caesar's ear, 
For the repealing of my banish 'd brother ? 

Bru. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar ; 
Desiring thee, that Publius Cimber may 
Have an immediate freedom of repeal. 

Cces. What, Brutus ! 

Cas. Pardon, Caesar : Caesar, pardon ; 

As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall. 
To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. 

Cces. I could be well mov'd, if I were as you ; j 

If I could pray to move, prayers would move me : ^ 



JULIUS C^SAR. 335 

But I am constant as the northern star, 

Of whose true-rix'd, and resting quality, 

There is no fellow in the firmament. 

The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks. 

They are all fire, and every one doth shine ; 

But there's but one in all doth hold his place : 

So, in the world ; 'Tis furnish'd well with men, 

And men are flesh and blood, and apprphpnsive ; 

Vet, in the number, I do know but one 

That unassailable holds on his rank, 

Unshak'd of motion : and, that I am he. 

Let me a little show it. even in this ; 

That I was constant, Cimber should be banish'd, 

And constant do remain to keep him so. 

Ciii. O Caesar. — — 

C(BS. Hence ! Wilt thou lift up Olympus V 

Dec. Great Caesar,— — 

CcBs. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel ? 

Casca. Speak, hands, for me. 

[Casca stabs C^sar in the neck, Cjesar catches hold of his 
arm. He is then stabbed by several other Conspiratm^s, 
and at last by Marcus Brutus. 

Cccs. Et tu Brute ? — ^Then fall, Caesar. 

[Dies. Tlie senators and people retire in confusion. 

Cin. Liberty ! Freedom ! Tyranny is dead ! — 
Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. 

Cas. Some to the common pulpits, and cry out, 
Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement ! 

Bru. People, and senators ! be not affrighted ; 
Fly not ; stand still : — ambition's debt is paid. 

Casca. Go to the pulpit, Brutus. 

Dec. And Cassius too 

Bru. Where's Publius ? 

Cin, Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. 

Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar'^ 
Should chance 

Bru. Talk not of standing ; — Publius, good cheer ; 
There is no harm intended to your person. 
Nor to no Roman else : so tell them, Publius. 

Cas. And leave us, PubHus ; lest that the people. 
Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief. 

Bru. Do so ; — and let no man abide this deed, 
But we the doers. 

Re-enter TREBONros. 

Cas. Where is Antony ? 

Tre. Fled to his house amaz'd : 

Men, wives, and children, stare, cry out, and run, 
As it were doomsday. 



836 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Bru. Fates ! we will know your pleasures • — 

That we shall die, we know ; 'tis but the time, 
And drawing days out, that men stand upon. 

Cas. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life, 
Cuts off so many years of fearing death. 

Bru, Grant that, and then is death a benefit : 

^ are we Caesar's friends, that have abridg'd 
lis time of fearing death. — Stoop, Romans, stoop, 
And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood 
Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords : 
Then walk we forth, even to the market-place ; 
And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads, 
J^et's all cry, Peace ! Freedom ! and Liberty ! 

Cas. Stoop then, and wash. — How many ages hence, 
Shall this our lofty scene be acted over. 
In states unborn, and accents yet unknown ? 

Bru. How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport, 
That now on Pompey's basis lies along. 
No worthier than the dust ? 

Cas. So oft as that shall be, 

So often shall the knot of us be call'd 
The men that gave our country liberty. 

Dec. What, shall we forth ? 

Cas. Ay, every man away ; 

Brutus shall lead ; and we will grace his heels 
With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. 

Enter a Servant. 

Bru. Soft, who comes here ? A friend of Antony's. 

Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel ; 
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down : 
And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say. 
Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest : 
Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving : 
Say, I loved Brutus, and I honor him : 
Say, I fear'd Caesar, honor'd him, and lov'd him. 
If Brutus will vouchsafe, that Antony 
May safely come to him, and be resolv'd 
How Caesar hath deserv'd to lie in death, 
Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead 
So well as Brutus living ; but will follow 
The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus, 
Thorough the hazards of this untrod state. 
With all true faith. So says my master Antony. 

Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman ; 
I never thought him worse. 
Tell him, so please him come unto this place, 
He shall be satisfied ; and, by my honor, "£ 

Depart untouch'd. "o 



I JULIUS CJESAK. 337 

Serv. I'll fetch him presently. [Exit Servant. 

Bru, I know that we shall have him well to friend. 

Cas. I wish, w^e may : but yet have I a mind, 
That fears him much ; and my misgiving still 
Falls shrew^dly to the purpose. 

Re-enter Antony. 

Bru. But here comes Antony. — Welcome, Mark Antony. 

Ant. O mighty Caesar ! dost thou lie so low ? 
Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, 
Shrunk to this little measure ? — Fare thee well. — 
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, 
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank 
If I myself, there is no hour so fit 
As Caesar's death's hour ; nor no instrument 
Of half that worth, as those your swords, made rich 
With the most noble blood of all this world. 
I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, 
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, 
Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, 
I shall not find myself so apt to die : 
No place will please me so, no mean of death, 
As here by Caesar, and by you cut off, 
The choice and master spirits of this age. 

Bru, O Antony ! beg not your death of us. 
Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, 
As, by our hands, and this our present act, 
You see we do ; yet see you but our hands, 
And this the bleeding business they have done : 
Our hearts you see not, they are pitiful ; 
And pity to the general wrong of Rome 
(As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity,) 

Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part, * 

To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony 
Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts, 
Of brothers' temper, do receive you in 
With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. 

Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any man's, 
In the disposing of new dignities. 

Bru. Only be patient, till we have appeas'd 
The multitude, beside themselves with fear. 
And then we will deliver you the cause. 
Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him, 
Have thus proceeded. 

Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom, ■ 

Let each man render me his bloody hand : 
First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you : 
Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand ; 
Now, Decius Brutus, yours ; — now vours Metellus \ 
16 



338 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Yours, Cinna ; — and, my valiant Casca, yours ; — 

Though last, not least in lore, yours, good Trebonius. 

Gentlemen all, — alas ! what shall I say ? 

My credit now stands on such slippery ground, 

That one of two bad ways you must conceit me. 

Either a coward or a flatterer. — 

That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true ; 

If then thy spirit look upon us now, 

Shall it not grieve thee, dearer than thy death, 

To see thy Antony making his peace. 

Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, 

Most noble ! in the presence of thy corse ? 

Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, 

Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, 

It would become me better, than to close 

In terms of friendship with thine enemies. 

Pardon me, Juhus ! — 

Cas. Mark Antony, 

Ant. Pardon me, Caius Cassius : 

Friends am I with you all, and love you all ; 
Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons, 
Why, and wherein Caesar was dangerous. 

Bru. Or else were this a savage spectacle : 
Our reasons are so full of good regard. 
That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, 
You should be satisfied. 

Ant. That's all I seek : 

And am moreover suitor, that I may 
Produce his body to the market-place ; 
And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, 
Speak in the order of his funeral. 

Bru. You shall, Mark Antony. 

Cas. Brutus, a word with you, — 

You know not what you do ; Do not consent, [Aside 

That Antony speak in his funeral : 
Know you how much the people may be mov'd 
By that which he will utter ? 

Bru, By your pardon ; — 

I will myself into the pulpit first. 
And show the reason of our Caesar's death : 
What Antony shall speak, I will protest 
He speaks by leave and by permission ; 
And that we are contented, Caesar shall 
Have all true rites, and lawful ceremonies. 
It shall advantage more, than do us wrong. 

Cas, I know not what may fall ; I like it not. n 

Bru. Mark Antony, here, take your Caesar's body. j^ 

You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, j, 

But speak all good you can devise of Caesar ;' 



JULIUS C^SAR. 339 

And say, you do 't by our permission ; 
Else shall you not have any hand at all 
About his funeral : And you shall speak 
In the same pulpit whereto I am going, 
After my speech is ended. 

Ant, Be it so ; 

I do desire no more. 

Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us. 

[Exeunt all but Antony. 

Ant. O, pardon me, thou piece of bleeding earth, 
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers ! 
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man, 
That ever hved in the tide of times. 
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood ! 
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy, — 
Which, Hke dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, 
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue ; — 
A curse shall light upon the Hmbs of men ; 
Domestic fury, and fierce civil strife, 
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy : 
Blood and destruction shall be so in use, 
And dreadful objects so familiar. 
That mothers shall but smile, when they behold 
Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war ; 
All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds : 
And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge. 
With Ate by his side, come hot from hell. 
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice, 
Cry Havoc, and let slip the dogs of war. 

Enter a Serv^ant. 
You serve Octavius CaBsar, do you not ? 

Serv. I do, Mark Antony. 

Ant. Caesar did write for him, to come to Rome. 

Serv. He did receive his letters, and is coming : 
And bid me say to you by word of mouth, — 
O Caesar ! [Seeing the body. 

Ant. Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep. 
Passion, I see is catching ; for mine eyes, 
Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, 
Began to water. Is thy master coming ? 

Serv. He lies to-night within seven leagues of Rome. 

Ant. Post back with speed, and tell him w^hat hath chanc'd : 
Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, 
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet ; 
Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay a while ; 
Thou shalt not back, till I have borne this corse 
Into the market-place : there shall I try, 
In my oration, how the people take 



340 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

The cruel issue of these bloody men ; 

According to the which, thou shalt discourse 

To young Octavius of the state of things. 

Lend me your hand. [Exeunt with Cesar's body. 

SCENE IL— The same. Tne Forum. 
Entei' Brutus and Cassius, and a throng of Citizens. 

Cit. We will be satisfied ; let us be satisfied. 

Bru. Then follow me, and give me audience, friends. — 
Cassius, go you into the other street, 
And part the numbers. — 

Those that will hear me speak, let them stay here ; 
Those that will follow Cassius, go with him ; 
And pubhc reasons shall be rendered 
Of Caesar's death. 

1st Cit. I will hear Brutus speak. 

2nd Cit. I will hear Cassius ; and compare their reasons, 
When severally we hear them rendered. 

[Exit Cassius, with some of the Citizens. Brutus goes 
into the Rostrum. 

Zrd Cit. The noble Brutus is ascended : Silence ! 

Bru. Be patient till the last. 
Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my cause ; and be 
silent, that you may hear : believe me for mine honor ; and have 
respect to mine honor, that you may believe : censure me in your 
wisdom ; and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If 
there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I 
say, that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his. If then that 
friend demand, why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer, — 
Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you 
rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves ; than that Caesar were 
dead, to live all free men ? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as 
he was fortunate, I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honor him : 
but, as he was ambitious, I slew him : There are tears, for his love ; 
joy, for his fortune ; honor, for his valor ; and death, for his ambition. 
Who is here so base, that would be a bondman ? If any, speak ; for 
him have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would not be a 
Roman ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who is here so 
vile, that will not love his country ? If any, speak ; for him have I 
offended. I pause for a reply. 

Cit. None, Brutus, none. [Several speaking at once. 

Bru. Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Caesar, 
than you should do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled 
in the Capitol ; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; 
nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death. 

Enter Antony and others, with Cesar's bodi/. 
Here comes his body, moum'd by Mark Antony ; who, though he 
had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a 



JULIUS C^SAR. 341 

place in the commonwealth ; As which of you shall not ? With this 
I depart ; That, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have 
the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need 
my death. 

Cit. Live, Brutus, live ! live ! 

1st Cit. Bring him with triumph home unto his house. 

2nd Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 

3rd Cit. Let him be Cassar. 

4th Cit. Caesar's better parts 

Shall now be crown'd in Brutus. 

1st Cit. We'll bring him to his house with shouts and clamors. 

Bru. My countrymen, 

2nd Cit. Peace ; silence I Brutus speaks. 

1st Cit. Peace, ho! 

Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone, 
And, for my sake, stay here with Antony : ^ 

Do grace to Caesar's corpse, and grace his speech 
Tending to Caesar's glories ; which Mark Antony. 
By our permission, is allow'd to make. 
I do entreat you, not a man depart, 
Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [Exit. 

Isi Cit. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark Antony. 

3rd Cit. Let him go up into the pubHc chair ; 
We'll hear him : Noble Antony, go up. 

Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholden to you. 

4:th Cit. What does he say of Brutus ? 

3rd Cit. He says, for Brutus' sake, 

He finds himself beholden to us all. 

4th Cit, 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here. 

Isi Cit. This Cassar was a tyrant. 

3rd Cit. Nay, that's certain : 

We are bless'd, that Rome is rid of him. 

2nd Cit. Peace ; let us hear what Antony can say. 

Ant. You gentle Romans, 

Cit. Peace, ho ! let us hear him. 

Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears ; 
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 
The evil that men do, lives after them ; 
The good is oft interred with their bones ; 
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 
Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious : 
If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. 
Here," under leave of Brutus, and the rest, 
(For Brutus is an honorable man ; 
So are they all, all honorable men ;) 
Come J to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 
But Brutus says, lie was ambitious ; 



342 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

And Brutus is an honorable man. 

He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 

Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 

Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 

When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept : 

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff; 

Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 

And Brutus is an honorable man. 

You all did see, that on the Lupercal, 

I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 

Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? 

Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 

And, sure, he is an honorable man. 

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 

But here I am to speak what I do know. 

You all did love him once ; not without cause ; 

What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? 

judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts. 

And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me ; 
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 
And I must pause till it come back to me. 

Is^ Cit. Methinks, there is much reason in his sayings. 

2nd Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter, 
Caesar has had great wrong. 

3rd C'li. Has he, masters ? 

1 fear, there will a worse come in his place. 

Ath Cit. Mark'd ye his words ? He would not take the crown , 
Therefore, 'tis certain, he was not ambitious. 

\st Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 

2nd Cit. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with weeping. 

3rd Cit. There's not a nobler man in Rome, than Antony. 

4^th Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to speak. 

A.nt. But yesterday, the word of Ccesar might 
Have stood against the world : now lies he there, 
And none so poor to do him reverence. 

masters ! if I were dispos'd to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 
Who, you all know, are honorable men : 

I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose 

To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, 

Than I will wrong such honorable men. 

But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar, 

I found it in his closet, 'tis his will : 

Let but the commons hear this testament, 

(Which pardon me I do not mean to read,) 

And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, 

And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; 

Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, 



JULIUS C^SAR. 343 

And, dying, mention it within their wills, 
Bequeathing it, as a rich legac}^ 
Unto their issue. 

4:ih €it. We'll hear the will : Read it, Mark Antony. 

Cit. The will, the will ; we will hear Caesar's will. 

Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it ; 
It is not meet you know how Ceesar lov'd you. 
You are not wood, you are not stones, but m.en ; 
And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, 
It will inflame you, it will m.ake you mad : 
'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ; 
For if you should, O, what would come of it ! 

Ath Cit. Read the will ; we will hear it, Antony ; 
You shall read us the will ; Caesar's will. 

Ant. Will you be patient ? Will you stay a while ? 
I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it. 
I fear I wrong the honorable men. 
Whose daggers have stabb'd Caesar : I do fear it. 

Ath Cit. They were traitors : Honorable men ! 

Cit. The will ! the testament ! 

2nd Cit. They were villains, murderers : The will, read the will ! 

Ant. You will compel me then to read the will ? 
Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, 
And let me show you him that made the will. 
Shall I descend ? And will you give me leave ? 

Cit, Come down. 

2nd Cit. Descend. \_He comes down from the pulpiU 

3rd Cit. You shall have leave. 

4th Cit. x\ ring ; stand round. 

\st Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body. 

2nd Cit. Room for Antony ; — most noble Antony. 

Ant. Nay. press not so upon me ; stand far off. 

Cit. Stand back I room ! bear back ! 

Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
You all do know this mantle : I remember 
The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 
'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent ; 
That day he overcame the Nervii : — 
Look I in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through : 
See, what a rent the envious Casca made : 
Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd ; 
And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, 
Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it : 
As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd 
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no ; 
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar lov'd him ! 
This was the most unkindest cut of all : 
For when the noble Caesar saw hun stab. 



I 

344 SHAKSPEAKIAN READER. ' 

Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 

Quite vanquish'd him : then burst his mighty heart ; 

And, in his mantle muffling up his face. 

Even at the base of Pompey's statue, 

Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 

O, what a fall was there my countrymen ! 

Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 

Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. 

O, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel 

The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. 

Kind souls, what weep you, when you but behold 

Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here. 

Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. 

1st Cit. O piteous spectacle ! 

2nd Cit, O noble Caesar ! 

Srd Cit. O woful day ! 

4ih Cit. O traitors, villains ! 

1st Cit. O most bloody sight ! 

2nd Cit. We will be revenged : revenge ; about, — seek, — burn, 
fire, — kill, — slay ! — let not a traitor live. 

Ant. Stay, countrymen. 

1st Cit. Peace there : — Hear the noble Antony. 

2nd Cit. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die with him. 

Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
They, that have done this deed, are honorable : 
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, 
That made them do't ; they are wise and honorable, 
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ; 
I am no orator, as Brutus is : 
But as you know me all, a plain blunt man, 
That love my friend, and that they know full well 
That gave me public leav^ to speak of him. 
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; 
I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; 
Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths, 
And bid them speak for me : But were I Brutus, 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
In every wound of Caesar, that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and mutinv. 

Cit. We'll mutiny. 

1st Cit. We'll burn the house of Brutus. 

3rd Cit. Away then, come, seek the conspirators. 

Ant. Yet hear me, countrymen ; yet hear me speak. 

Cit. Peace, ho ! Hear Antony, most noble Antony. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 346 

Ant. \Miy, friends, you go to do you know not what : 
Wherein hath Caesar thus desen''d your loves ! 
Alas, you know not — 1 must tell you then : — 
You have forgot the will I told you of. 

CiL Most true ; the will : — let's stay and hear the will. 

Ant. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal. 
To ever}' Roman citizen he gives, 
To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. 

2nd Cit. Most noble Caesar I — we'll revenge his death. 

3rd Cit. O royal Caesar ! 

Ant. Hear me with patience. 

Cit. Peace, ho ! 

A7it. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, 
His private arbors, and new-planted orchards. 
On this side Tiber ; he hath left them you, 
And to your heirs for ever ; common pleasures, 
To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. 
Here was a Caesar : When comes such another ? 

1st Cit. Never, never : Come, away, away ; 
We'll burn his body in the holy place, 
And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 
Take up the body. [Exeunt Citizens icitli the body. 

Ant. Now let it work ; Mischief; thou art afoot. 
Take thou what course tliou wilt I — How now, fellow ? 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. Sir, Octa\'ius is already come to Rome. 

Ant. Where is he ? 

Serv. He and Lepidus are at Caesar's house. 

Ant. And thither vrill I straight to visit him : 
He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry. 
And in this mood \^ill give us any thing. 

Serv. I heard him say, Brutus and Cassius 
Are rid hke madmen through the gates of Rome. 

Ant. Behke, they had some notice of the people, 
How" I had moved them. Bring me to Octa\ius. \^ExeurU, 



ACT IV. 

Antony, Octa^ins, and Lepidus, assnme the government of Rome. They are opposed 
by Brntus and Cassius, who levy powers to make war on the triumvirate. 

SCENE. — Before Brutus' Tent, in the Camp near Sardis. 

Drum. — Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Lucius, and Soldiers : Titinius 
and PiN'DARUS meeting them. 

Bru, Stand here. 

Luc. Give the word, ho I and stand. 



346 SHAKSPEARIAN HEADER. 

Bru. What now, Lucilius ? is Cassius near ? 

Luc. He is at hand ; and Pindarus is come 
To do you salutation from his master. 

[Pindarus gives a letter to Brutus. 

Bru. He greets me well. — Your master, Pindarus, 
In his own change, or by ill officers. 
Hath given me some worthy cause to wish 
Things done, undone : but, if he be at hand, 
I shall be satisfied. 

Pin. I do not doubt. 

But that my noble master will appear 
Such as he is, full of regard, and honor. 

Bru. He is not doubted. — A word, Lucilius ; 
How he receiv'd you, let me be resolv'd. 

Luc. With courtesy, and with respect enough ; 
But not with such familiar instances, 
Nor with such free and friendly conference, 
As he hath used of old. 

Bru. Thou hast describ'd 

A hot friend cooling : Ever note, Lucilius, 
When love begins to sicken and decay, 
It useth an enforced ceremony. 
There are no tricks in plain and simple faith : 
But hollow men, hke horses hot at hand, 
Make gallant show and promise of their mettle ; 
But when they should endure the bloody spur, 
They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades. 
Sink in the trial. Comes his army on ? 

Luc. They mean this night in Sardis to be quartered ; 
The greater part, the horse in general. 
Are come with Cassius. {^March within. 

Bru. Hark, he is arriv'd : — 

March gently on to meet him. 

Enter Cassdjs, and Soldiers. 

Cas. Stand, ho ! 

Bru. Stand, ho ! Speak the word along. 

Within. Stand. 

Within. Stand. 

Within. Stand. 

Cas, Most noble brother, you have done me wrong. 

Bru. Judge me, you gods ! Wrong I mine enemies ? 
And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother ? 

Cas. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs ; 
And when you do them 

Bru. Cassius, be content, 

Speak your griefs softly, — I do know you well : — 
Before the eyes of both our armies here. 
Which should perceive nothing but love from us, 



JULIUS C^SAR. 347 

Let us not wrangle : Bid them move away ; 
Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs, 
A.nd I will give you audience. 

Gas. Pindarus, 

Bid our commanders lead their charges off 
A little from this ground. 

Bru. Lucilius. do you the like ; and let no man 
Come to our tent, till we have done our conference. 
Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door. [ExeunL 

SCENE m.— Wiihiyi the Tent of Bratus. 
Lucius and Titinius at some distance from it. 

Enter Brutus and Cassius. 

Cas. That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this : 
You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella, 
For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
Wherein, my letters, praying on his side, 
Because I knew the man, were slighted off. 

Bru. You wrong'd yourself, to write in such a case. 

Cas. In such a tim.e as this, it is not meet 
That every nice offence should bear his comment. 

Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm ; 
To sell and mart your offices for gold, 
To undeservers. 

Cas. I an itching palm ? 

You knov.-, that you are Brutus that speak this, 
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. 

Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption, 
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. 

Cas. Chastisement ! 

Bj'u. Remember March, the ides of March remember. 
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? 
What viUain touch'd his body, that did stab, 
And not for justice ? What, shall one of us, 
That struck the foremost man of all this world, 
But for supporting robbers ; shall we now 
Contaminate our fingers \\ith base bribes ? 
And sell the mighty space of our large honors, 
For so much trash, as may be grasped thus ? — 
I had rather be a dog. and bay the moon, 
Than such a Roman. 

Cas. Brutus, bay not me, 

I'll not endure it : you forget yourself, 
To hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I, 
Older in practice, abler than yourself 
To make conditions. 



348 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

BriL Go to ; you're not, Cassius. 

Cas. I am. 

Bru. I say, you are not. 

Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself ; 
Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. 

Bru. Away, slight man ! 

Cas. Is't possible ? 

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. 
Must I give way and room to your rash choler ? 
Shall I be frighted, when a madman stares ? 

Cas. O gods ! ye gods ! must I endure all this ? 

Bru. All this ? ay, and more : Fret till your proua heart break ; 
Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, 
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge ? 
Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch 
Under your testy humor ? By the gods, 
You shall digest the venom of your spleen, 

Though it do split you ; for, from this day forth, 5Hi 

I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, r^ 

When you are waspish. 

Cas. Is it come to this ? 

Bru. You say, you are a better soldier : 
Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true, 
And it shall please me well : For mine own part, 
I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 

Cas. You wrong me every w^ay ; you wrong me, Brutus ; 
I said, an elder soldier, not a better : 
Did I say, better ? 

Bru. If you did, I care not, 

Cas. When Caesar liv'd, he durst not thus have moved n». 

Bru. Peace, peace ; you durst not so have tempted him 

Cas. I durst not ? 

Bru. No. 

Cas, What ? durst not tempt him ? 

Bru, For your life, you durst not. 

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love, 
I may do that I shall be sorry for. 

Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. 
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats ; 
For I am arm'd so strong in honesty. 
That they pass by me as the idle wind. 
Which I respect not. I did send to you 
For certain sums of gold, which you deny'd me ; — 
For 1 can raise no money by vile means : 
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, 
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash. 
By any indirection. I did send 
To you for gold to pay my legions, 



JULIUS C^SAR. 349 



Which you denied me : Was that done like Cassius ? 

Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so ? 

When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, 

To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 

Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, 

Dash him to pieces ! 

Cas. I denied you not. 

Bru. You did. 

Cas. I did not : — he was but a fool, 

That brought my answer back. — Brutus hath riv'd my heart ; 
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities ; 
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 

Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. 

Cas. You love me not. 

Bru. I do not like your faults. 

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 

Bru.. A flatterer's v^ould not, though they do appear 
As huge as high Olympus. 

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
For Cassius is aweary of the world : 
Hated by one he loves ; brav'd by his brother ; 
Check'd like a bondman ; all his faults observ'd, 
Set in a note-book, learn'd and conn'd by rote. 
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 
My spirit from mine eyes ! — There is my dagger, 
And here my naked breast ; within, a heart 
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold : 
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart : 
Strike, as thou didst at Caesar ; for, I know. 
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better 
Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius. 

Bru. Sheathe your dagger : 

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; 
Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. 
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb 
That carries anger, as the flint bears fire ; 
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark. 
And straight is cold again. 

Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd 

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
When grief, and blood ill-temper'd vexeth him ? 

Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too. 
Cas. Do you confess so much ? Give me your hand. 

Bru. And my heart too. 

Cas. O Brutus !-— 

Br^. What's the matter ? 

Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me. 



350 SHAKSPEARIAJN READER. 

When that rash humor, which my mother gave me, 
Makes me forgetful ? 

Bru. Yes, Cassius ; and, hencefortli. 

When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. 

Cas. I did not think, you could have been so angry, 

Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. 

Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use. 
If you give place to accidental evils. 

Bru. No man bears sorrow better : — Portia is dead. 

Cas. Ha ! Portia ! 

Bru. She is dead. 

Cas. How scap'd I killing, when I cross'd you so ? 

insupportable and touching loss ! — 
Upon what sickness ? 

Bru. Impatient of my absence ; 

And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony 
Have made themselves so strong ; — for with her death 
That tidings came ; — With this she fell distract, 
And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire. 

Cas. And died so ? 

Bru. Even so. 

Cas. O ye immortal gods ! 

Enter Lucius, 2vith wine and tapers. 

Bru. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine. 
In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. [Drinks. 

Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge : — ■ 
Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup ; 

1 cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. [Drinks. 

Re-enter Titinius, with Messala, 

Bru. Come in, Titinius : Welcome, good Messala. 
Now sit we close about this taper here, 
And call in question our necessities. 

Cas. Portia, art thou gone ? 

Bru. No more, I pray you. — 

Messala, I have here received letters, 
That young Octavius, and Mark Antony, 
Come down upon us with a mighty power, 
Bending their expedition toward Phihppi. 

Mes, Myself have letters of the self-same tenor. 

Bru. With what addition ? 

Mes. That by proscription, and bills of outlawry, 
Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, 
Have put to death an hundred senators. 

Bru, Therein our letters do not well agree ; 
Mine speak of seventy senators that died, 
By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. 



JULIUS CjESAR. 351 

Cas. Cicero one ? 

Mes. Ay, Cicero is dead, 

And by that order of proscription. — 
Had you your letters from your wife, my lord ? 

Bru. No, Messala. 

Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her ? 

Bru. Nothing, Messala. 

Mes. That, methinks, is strange. 

Bru. Why ask you ? Hear you aught of her in yours ? 

Mes. No, my lord. 

Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. 

Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell : 
For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. 

Bru. Why, farewell, Portia. — We must die, Messala : 
With meditating that she must die once, 
I have the patience to endure it now. 

Mes. Even so great men great losses should endure. 

Cas. I have as much of this in art as you, 
But yet my nature could not bear it so. 

Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do you think 
Of marching to Philippi presently ? 

Cas. I do not think it good. 

Bru. Your reason. 

Cas. This it is : 

'Tis better, that the enemy seek us : 
So shall he w^aste his means, weary his soldiers, 
Doing himself offence ; whilst we, lying still. 
Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. 

Bru. Good reasons mast, of force, give place to better. 
The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground. 
Do stand but in a forc'd affection ; 
For they have grudg'd us contribution : 
The enemy, marching along by them, 
By them shall make a fuller number up, 
Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encouraged ; 
From which advantage shall we cut him of!*. 
If at Philippi we do face him there, 
These people at our back. 

Cas. Hear me, good brother. 

Bru. Under your pardon. — You must note beside, 
That we have tried the utmost of our friends. 
Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe : 
The enemy increaseth every day. 
We, at the height, are ready to decline. 
There is a tide in the affairs of men. 
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune : 
Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
Is bound in shallows, and in miseries. 
On such a fuJl sea are we now afloat, 



352 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

And we must take the current when it serves, 
Or lose our ventures. 

Cas. Then, with your will, go on : 

We'll along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi. 

Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our talk, 
And nature must obey necessity ; 
Which we will niggard with a little rest. 
There is no more to say ? 

Cas. No more. Good night ; 

Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence. 

Bru. Lucius, my gown. — [Exit Lucius.] — Farewell, good Mes- 
sala ; — 
Good night, Titinius. — Noble, noble Cassius, 
Good night, and good repose. 

Cas. O my dear brother ! 

This was an ill beginning of the night : 
Never come such division 'tween our souls ! 
Let it not, Brutus. 

Bru. Every thing is well. 

Cas. Good night, my lord. 

Bru. Good night, good brother. 

Tit. Mes. Good night, lord Brutus. 

Bru. Farewell, every one. 

[Exeunt Cassius, Titinius, and Messala. 

Re-enter Lucius, with the gown. 

Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument ? 

Luc. Here in the tent. 

Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily ? 

Poor knave, I blame thee not ; thou art o'er-watch'd. 
Call Claudius, and some other of my men ; 
I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent. 

Luc. Varro, and Claudius ! 

Enter Varro, and Claudius. 

Var. Calls my lord ? 

Bru. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent, and sleep ; 
It may be, I shall raise you by and by 
On business to my brother Cassius. 

Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch your pleasure. 

Bru. I will not have it so : lie down, good sirs ; 
It may be, I shall otherwise bethink me. 
Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so : 
I put it in the pocket of my gown. [Servants lie down. 

Luc. I was sure, your lordship did not give it me. 

Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. 
Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, 
And touch thy instrument a strain or two ? 

Luc. Ay, my lord, an it please you. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 353 

Bni. It doe?, my boy : 

I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. 

Luc. It is my duty, sir. 

Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy might ; 
I know, young bloods look for a time of rest. 

Luc. I have slept, my lord, already. 

Bru. It is well done ; and thou shalt sleep again ; 
I will not hold thee long : if I do live, 

I wiW be good to thee. [Music, and a song. 

This is a sleepy tune : — O murd'rous slumber ! 
Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy. 
That plays thee music ? — Gentle knave, good night ; 
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. 
If thou dost nod. thou break'st thy instrument ; 
I'll take it from thee : and, good boy, good night. 
Let me see, let me see : — Is not the leaf turn'd down. 
Where I left reading ? Here it is. I think. [He sits doicm. 

Enter the Ghost of C^sar. 

How ill this taper burns ! — Ha ! who comes here ? 
I think, it is the weakness of mine eyes, 
That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
It comes upon me : — Art thou any thing ? 
An thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 
That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare ? 
Speak to me, what thou art. 

Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 

Bru. Why com'st thou ? 

Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi. 

Bru. Well; 
Then I shall see thee again ? 

Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. [Ghost vanishes. 

Bru. Why. I shall see thee at Philippi then. — 
Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest : 
III spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. — 
Bov ! Lucius !— Varro ! Claudius ! Sirs, awake ! 
Claudius : 

Luc. The strings, my lord, are false. 

Bru. He thinks, he still is at his instrument. — 
Lucius, awake. 

Luc. My lord ! 

Bru. Didst thou dream. Lucius, that thou so cry'dst out ? 

Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did cry. 

Bru. Yes. tliat thou didst : Didst thou see any thing ? 

Li2C. Nothing, my lord. / 

Bru. Sleep again. Lucius. — Sirrah, Claudius ! 
Fellow thou I awake. 

Var. Mv lord. 

Clan. My lord. 



354 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Bru. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep ? 

Var. Clau. Did we, my lord ? 

Bru. Ay, saw you any thing ? 

Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing, 

Clau. Nor I, my lord. 

Bru. Go, and commend me to my brother Cassius ; 
Bid him set on his powers betimes before, 
And we will follow. 

Var. Clau. It shall be done, my lord. [Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

The fifth Act is occupied with the battle of Philippi, the defeat and death of Brutus 
and Cassius. They perish by their own hands. The Drama ends with the following 
eulogium on Brutus, by Antony and Octavius. 

Ant.- This was the noblest Roman of them all : 
All the conspirators, save only he, 
Did that they did in envy of great Caesar ; 
He, only, in a general honest thought, 
And common good to all, made one of them. 
His life was gentle ; and the elements 
So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up. 
And say to all the world. This was a man ! 

Oct. According to his virtue let us use him, 
With all respect, and rites of burial. 
Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie, 
Most like a soldier, order'd honorably. — 
So. call the field to rest : and let's away, 
To part the glories of this happy day. [Exeunt. 



TWELFTH-NIGHT I 

OR, 

WHAT YOU WILL 



Shakspeare appears to have invariably sought for the originals of his plots from 
sources within his reach. — The Italian novehsts of his period furnished ample materials for 
his purpose, but although there are traces to be found in the present Comedy, of incidents, 
which are evidently borrowed from these sources, yet even the industrious and acute re- 
searches of the critics cannot distinctly trace out the precise authorities, to which the Poet is 
indebted for the groundwork of this delightful Comedy. 

There is in this Drama, an under plot, — skilfully interwoven into the main subject, yet, 
in no degree necessary to the chief action of the Play. The nature of our design, has in- 
duced the rejection of the comic incidents, which form the minor plot, so that we might 
incorporate into our selections, the entire main story, with all its charming beauties of 
graceful and touching Poetry. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Orsino, Duke of Illyria. 

Sebastian, a young gentleman, brother to Viola. 

A.XTOXIO, a sea captain, friend to Sebastian. 

A sea captain, friend to Viola. 

Valentine, Curio, gentlemen attending on the Duke. 

Sir Toby Belch, uncle of Olivia. 

Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 

Malvolio, steward to Olivia. 

Fabian, Clown, servants to Olivia. 

Olivia, a rich Countess. 
Viola, in love with the Duke. 
Maria, Olivia's woman. 

Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and other Attendants, 

SCENE. — A City in Illyria ; and the Sea-coast near it. 



356 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — An Afariment in the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Duke, Curio, Lords ; Musicians attending. 

Duke. If music be the food of love, play on, 
Give me excess of it ; that, surfeiting, 

The appetite may sicken, and so die. 

That strain again ; — it had a dying fall : 
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, 
That breathes upon a bank of violets. 
Stealing, and giving odor. — Enough ; no more ; 
'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before. 
O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou ! 
That, notwithstanding thy capacity 
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, 
Of what validity and pitch soever. 
But falls into abatement and low price. 
Even in a minute ! so full of shapes is fancy. 
That it alone is high-fantastical. 

Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord ? 

Duke. What, Curio ? 

Cur. The hart 

Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have : 
O when mine eyes did see Olivia first, 
Methought, she purg'd the air of pestilence ; 
That instant was I turn'd into a hart ; 
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds. 
E'er since pursue me. — How now ? what news from her ? 

Enter Valentine. 

Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted, 
But from her handmaid do return this answer : 
The element itself, till seven years' heat. 
Shall not behold her face at ample view ; 
But, Uke a cloistress, she will veiled walk. 
And water once a day her chamber round 
With eye-offending brine : all this, to season 
A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh. 
And lasting, in her sad remembrance. 

Duke. O, she, that hath a heart of that fine frame, 
To pay this debt of love but to a brother. 
How will she love, when the rich, golden shaft, 
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else 
That live in her ! when liver, brain, and heart. 
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd. 
(Her sweet perfections,) with one self king ! — 






TWELFTH-NIGHT. 357 

Away before me to sweet beds of flowers ; 

Love-thoughts he rich, when canopied with bowers. [Exeunt, 

SCENE U.-^The Sea-coast 
Enter Viola, Captain, and Sailors. 

Vio. What country, friends, is this ? 

Caj). Illyria, lady. 

Vio. And what should I do in Illyria ? 
My brother he is in Elysium. 
Perchance, he is not drown'd. — What think you, sailors ? 

Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself were saved. 

Vio. O my poor brother ! and so, perchance, may he be. 

Cap, True, madam : and, to comfort you with chance, 
Assure yourself, after our ship did split, 
When you, and that poor number saved with you, 
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother. 
Most provident in peril, bind himself 
(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) 
To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea ; 
Where, hke Arion on the dolphin's back, 
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves, 
So long as I could see. 

Vio. For saying so, there's gold : 

Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope. 
Whereto thy speech serves for authority. 
The like of him. Know'st thou this country ? 

Cap. Ay, madam, well ; for I was bred and bom, 
Not three hours' travel from this very place. 

Vio. Who governs here ? 

Cap. A noble duke, in nature, 

As in his name. 

Vio. What is his name ? 

Cap. Orsino. 

Vio. Orsino ! I have heard my father name him : 
He was a bachelor then. 

Cap. And so is now. 

Or was so very late : for but a month 
Ago I went from hence ; and then 'twas fresh 
In murmur, (as, you know, what great ones do, 
The less will prattle of,) that he did seek 
The love of fair Olivia. 

Vio. What's she ? 

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count 
That died some twelvemonth since ; then leaving her 
In the protection of his son, her brother. 
Who shortly also died : for whose dear love, 
They say, she hath abjured the company • 

And sight of men. 



358 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Vio. O, that I served that lady : 

And might not be delivered to the world, 
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow, 
What my estate is. 

Cap. That were hard to compass ; 

Because she will admit no kind of suit, 
No, not the duke's. 

Vio. There is a fair behavior in thee, captain ; 
And though that nature with a beauteous wall 
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee 
I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits 
With this thy fair and outward character, 
I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously, 
Conceal me what I am ; and be my aid 
For such disguise as, haply, shall become 
The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke ; 
Thou shalt present me as a page to him. 
It may be worth thy pains ; for I can sing. 
And speak to him in many sorts of music, 
That will allow me very worth his service. 
What else may hap, to time I will commit ; 
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. 

Cap. Be thou his page, and I your mute will be ; 
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see ! 

Vio. I thank thee : Lead me on. [Exeimi. 

Viola, having disguised herself in male attire, obtains the situation of Page, in the 
Duke's household, under the name of Cesario. 

A Room in the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Valentine, and Viola in man's attire, 

Val. If the Duke continue these favors towards you, Cesario, you 
are like to be much advanced ; he hath known you but three days, 
and already you are no stranger. 

Vio. You either fear his humor, or my negligence, that you call in 
question the continuance of his love : Is he inconstant, sh', in his 
favors ? 

Val. No, believe me. 

Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants. 

Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count. 

Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho ? 

Vio. On your attendance, my lord ; here. 

Duke. Stand you awhile aloof. — Cesario, 
Thou know'st no less but all ; I have unclasp'd 
To thee the book even of my secret soul : 
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her ; 
Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors. 



TWELFTH-NIGHT. 359 

A.nd tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow, 
Till thou have audience. 

Vio. Sure, my rioble lord, 

If she be so abandoned to her sorrow 
As it is spoke, she never will admit me. 

Dulie. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds, 
Rather than make unprofited return. 

Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord : What then ? 

Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love ; 
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith. 
It shall become thee well to act my woes ; 
She will attend it better in thy youth, 
Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect. 

Vio. 1 think not so, my lord. 

Duke. Dear lad, believe it ; 

For they shall yet belie thy happy years. 
That say, thou art a man : Diana's lip 
Is not more smooth, and rubious ; thy small pipe 
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound, 
And all is semblative a woman's part. 
I know, thy constellation is right apt 
For this affair : — Some four, or five, attend him ; 
All, if you will ; for I myself am best. 
When least in company : — Prosper well in this, 
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord, 
To call his fortunes thine. 

Vio. I'll do my best, 

To woo your lady : yet, — [Aside.] — a barful strife : 
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. [Exeunt. 

The Lady Olivia, attended by her waiting woman Maria, and Malvolio her steward, 
is informed that a messenger from the Duke seeks her presence. 

SCENE V. 

Enter Olivia, Maria, and Malvolio. 

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman, much 
desires to speak with you. 

Oli. From the count Orsino, is it ? 

Mar. I know not, madam ; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended. 

Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay ? 

Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. 

Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you ; he speaks nothing but madman : 
Fye on him I — [Exit Maria.'] — Go you, Malvolio : if it be a suit 
from the count, I am sick or not at home ; what you will, to dismiss 
it. — [Exit Malvolio.] — Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows 
old, and people dislike it. 

Re-enter Malvolio. 
Mai. Madam, yond, young fellow swears he will speak with you. 



360 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

I told him you were sick ; he takes on him to understand so much^ 
and therefore comes to speak with you : I told him you were asleep ; 
he seems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore comes 
to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady ? he's fortified 
against any denial. 

on. Tell him, he shall not speak with me. 

Mai. He has been told so ; and he says, he'll stand at your door 
like a sheriff's post, and be tlie supporter of a bench, but he'll speak 
with you. 

on. What kind of man is he ? 

Mai. Why, of mankind. 

Oli. What manner of man ? 

Mai. Of very ill manner ; he'll speak with you, will you, or no. 

Oli. Of what personage, and years, is he ? 

Mai. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy 
He is very well-favored, and he speaks very shrewishly. 

Oli. Let him approach : Call in my gentlewoman. 

Mai. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [Exit 

Re-enter Maria. 
Oli. Give me my veil : come throw it o'er my face : 
We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy. 

Enter Viola. 

Vio. The honorable lady of the house, which is she ? 

Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her : Your will ? 

Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty, I pray you, 
tell me, if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her : I would be 
loath to cast away my speech ; for, besides that it is excellently well 
penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sus- 
tain no scorn ; I am very comptible,* even to the least sinister usage. 

Oli. Whence came you, sir ? 

Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, and that question's 
out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance, if you 
be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. 

Oli. Are you a comedian ? 

Vio. No, my profound heart : and yet, by the very fangs of malice, 
I swear I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house ? 

Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am. 

Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what 
is yours to bestow, is not yours to reserve. But this is from my 
commission : I will on with my speech in your praise, and then show 
you the heart of my message. 

Oli. Come to what is important in't : I forgive you the praise. 

Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical. 

Oli. It is the more like to be feigned ; I pray you keep it in. I 
heard you were saucy at my gates ; and allowed your approach, 
rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be 

* Accountable. 



TTVELFTH-NIGHT. 361 

gone; if yoa have reason be brief: 'tis not that time of moon with 
me, to maie one in so skipping a dialogue. Tell me your mind. 

Vio. I am a messenger. 

Oil. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the 
courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office. 

Vio. It eJone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no 
taxation of homage ; I hold the olive in my hand : my words are as 
full of peace as matter. 

Oli. Yet you began rudely, ^^^lat are you ? what would you ? 

Vio. The rudeness that hath appeared in me. have I learn 'd from 
my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are to your ears, 
divinity ; to any other's, profanation. 

Oli. Give us the place alone : we will hear this divinity. — [Exit 
Maria.] — Now, sir, what is your text ? 

Vio. Most sweet lady, — r— 

Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where 
lies your text ? 

Vio. In Orsino's bosom. 

Oli. In his bosom ? In what chapter of his bosom ? 

Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart. 

Oli. O, I have read it ; it is heresy. Have you no more to say ? 

Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. 

Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate with 
my face ? you are now out of your text : but we will draw the cur- 
tain, and show you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was 
this present : Is't not well done ? [Unveiling. 

Vio. Excellently done, if nature did all. 

Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir : 'twill endure wind and weather. 

Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and w^hite 
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on : 
Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive, 
If you \\ill lead these graces to the grave, 
And leave the world no copy. 

Oli. O, sir, I \\ill not be' so hard-hearted ; I will give out divers 
schedules of my beauty : It shall be inventoried ; and every particle, 
aiid utensil, labelled to my \\ill. Were you seat hither to praise 
me ? 

Vio. I see you what you are : you are too proud ; 
But, if you were the devil, you are fair. 
My lord and master loves you ; O, such love 
Could be but recompens'd, though you were cro\\Ti'd 
The nonpareil of beauty ! 

Oli. How does he love me ? 

Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears, ^' 

With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. ."^ 

Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love him ; 
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble. 
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth ; * 

In voices well divulg'd. free, leam'd. and valiant. 
17 



JL 



362 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

And, in dimension, and. the shape of nature, 
A gracious person : but yet I cannot love him ; 
He might have took his answer long ago. 

Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, 
With such a suffering, such a deadl}^ life, 
In your denial 1 would find no sense, 
I would not understand it. 

OIL Why, what would you ? 

Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate. 
And call upon my soul within the house ; 
Write loyal cantons of contemned love, 
And sing them loud even in the dead of night ; 
Holla your name to the reverberate hills, 
And make the babbling gossip of the air 
Cry out, Olivia ! O, you should not rest 
Between the elements of air and earth, 
But you should pity me. 

OH. You might do much : What is your parentage ? 

Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : 
I am a gentleman. 

Oli. Get you to your lord ; 

I cannot love him : let him send no more \ 
Unless, perchance, you come to me again. 
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well : 
I thank you for your pains : spend this for me. 

Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady : keep your purse ; 
My master, not myself, lacks recompense. 
Love makes his heart of flint, that you shall love ; 
And let your fervor, like my master's, be 
Plac'd in contempt ! Farewell, fair cruelty. [ E^^^ 

Oli. What is your parentage ? 
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well ; 

I am a gentleman. I'll be sworn thou art ; 

Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit, 

Do give thee five-fold blazon : — Not too fast : — soft ! soft i 

Unless the master were the man. — How now ? 

Even so quickly may one catch the plague ? 

Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections, 

With an invisible and subtle stealth. 

To creep in at mine eves. Well, let it be. — 

What, ho, Malvolio !— 

Re-enter Malvolio. 

Mai. Here, madam, at your service. 

Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger. 
The county's man : he left this ring behind him. 
Would I, or not ; tell him, I'Jl none of it. •^: 

Desire him not to flatter with his lord, ^^ 

Nor hold iiim up with hopes ; I am not for him : ' ^^ 



II 



TWELFTH-NIGHT. 363 

If that the youth will come this way to-morrow. 
I'll give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvoho. 

Mai. Madam, I will. [Exit. 

OIL I do I know not w^.at : and fo^^r to find 
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. 
Fate, show thy force : Ourselves we do not owe ; 
What is decreed, must be ; and be this so ! \_Exit. 

ACT 11. 

SCENE.— A Street. 
Enter Viola ; Malvolio following. 

Mat. Were not you even now with the countess Olivia ? 

Vio. Even now, sir ; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but 
hither. 

Mai. She returns this ring to you, sir ; you might have saved me 
my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that 
you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of 
him : And one thing more ; that you be never so hardy to come 
again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. 
Receive it so. 

Vio. She took the ring of me ; I'll none of it. 

Mai. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her ; and her will is, it 
should be so returned : if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in 
your eye ; if not, be it his that finds it. \_ExiL 

Vio. I left no ring with her : What means this lady ? 
Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her I 
She made good view" of me ; indeed, so much, 
That, sure, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue, 
For she did speak in starts distractedly. 
She loves me, sure ; the cunning of her passion 
Invites me in this churlish messenger. 
None of my lord's ring ! why, he sent her none. 
I am the man ; — If it be so, (as 'tis,) 
Poor lady, she were better love a dream. 
Disguise. I see, thou art a wickedness, 
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. 
How easy is it, for the proper-false 
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms ! 
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we ; 
For, such as we are made of, such we be. 
My master loves her dearly ; 
And I. poor monster, fond as much on him : 
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me : 
What will become of this ! As I am man, 
My state is desperate for my m.aster's love : 
As 1 am woman, now alas the day ' 



364 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe ? 

O time, thou must entangle this, not I ; 

It is too hard a knv^t for me to untie. [Exit. 

Viola becomes enamored of the Duke, and with exquisite delicacy describes her own 
feelings, while professing to narrate her sister's story. 

SCENE. — A Room in the Duke's Palace. 

Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and oilier s. 

Duke. Give me some music : — Now, good mon*ow, friends : 



Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song. 
That old and antique song we heard last night : 
Methought, it did relieve my passion much ; 
' More than light airs and recollected terms. 

Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times : 

Come, but one verse. 

Car. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it. 

Duke. Who was it ? 

Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord ; a fool, that the lady Olivia's father 
took much delight in : he is about the house. 

Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. 

{Exit Curio. — Music. 
Come hither, boy ; if ever thou shalt love, 
In the sweet pangs of it, remember me : 
For, such as I am, all true lovers are ; 
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, 
Save, in the constant image of the creature 
That is belov'd. — How dost thou like this tune ? 

Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat 
Where Love is thron'd. 

Duke. Thou dost speak masterly : 

My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye 
Hath stay'd upon some favor that it loves ; 
Hath it not, boy ? 

Vio. A little, by your favor. 

Duke. What kind of woman is't ? 

Vio. Of your complexion. 

Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years, i' faith ? 

Vio. About your years, my lord. 

Duke. Too old, by heaven. Let still the woman take 
An elder than herself ; so ^vears she to him, 
So sways she level in her husband's heart. 
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, 
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, 
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, 
Than women's are. 

Vio. I think it well, my lord. i ^ 

Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself. I % 

Or thv affection cannot hold the bent : 



i 



TWELFTH-NIGHT. 365 

For women are as roses ; whose fair flower. 
Being once display'd. doth fall that very hour. 

Vio, And so they are ; alas, that they are so ; 
To die, even when they to perfection grow ! 

Duke, Once more. Cesario, 
Get thee to yond' same sovereign cruelty : 
Tell her. my love, more noble than the world, 
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands ; 
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, 
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune ; 
But tis that miracle, and queen of gems, 
That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul. 

Vio. But if she cannot love you, sir ? 

Duke. I cannot be so answer'd. 

Vio. 'Sootli, but you must. 

Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is, 
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart 
As you have for Olivia : you cannot love her ; 
You tell her so ; Must she not then be answer'd ? 

Duke. There is no woman's sides, 
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion 
As love doth give my heart : no woman's heart 
So big, to hold so much ; they lack retention. 
But mine is all as hungry as the sea. 
And can digest as much : make no compare 
Between that love a woman can bear me, 
And that I owe Olivia. 

Vio. Ay, but I knov.-, — 

Duke. What dost thou know ? 

Vio. Too well what love women to men may : 
In faith, they are as true of heart as we. 
My father had a daughter lov'd a man, 
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, 
I should your lordship. 

Duke. And what's her history ? 

Vio. A blank, my lord : She never told her love, 
But let concealment, like a worm i* the bud. 
Feed on her damask cheek : she pin'd in thought ; 
And, with a green and yellow melancholy, 
She sat like patience on a monument, 
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed ? 
We men may say more, swear more : but, indeed, 
Our shows are more than will ; for still we prove 
Much in our vows, but little in our love. 

Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy ? 

Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house. 
And all the brothers too ; — and yet I know not. — 
Sir. shall I to this lady I 

Dwke. ' Av, that's the theme. 



i 



h 



366 SHAKSPEAFtlAN READER. 

To her in haste ; give her this jewel ; say, 
My love can give no place, bide no denay.* 

ACT III. 

Olivia, and Viola. 

According to the Duke's instructions, Viola again presents herself to Olivia, hut finds 
the lady unwilling to listen to Orsino's suit. The cause is explained in the following 
scene. 

on. Give me your hand, sir. 

Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. 

Oli. What is your name ? 

Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess. 

Oli. My servant, sir ! 'Twas never merry world 
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment : 
You are servant to the count Orsino, youth. 

Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours : 
Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. 

Oli. For him, I think not on him : for his thoughts, 
Would they were blanks, rather than filled with me ! 

Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts 
On his behalf : — 

Oli. O, by your leave, I pray you ; 

I bade you never speak again of him : 
But, would you undertake another suit, 
I had rather hear you to solicit that, 
Than music from the spheres. 

Vio. Dear lady, 

Oli. Give me leave, I beseech you : I did send 
After the last enchantment you did here, 
A ring in chase of you ; so did I abuse 
Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you : 
Under your hard construction must I sit, 
To force that on you, in a shameful cunning. 
Which you knew none of yours : What might you think ? 
Have you not set mine honor at the stake. 
And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts 
That tyrannous heart can think ? To one of your receiving 
Enough is shown ; a Cyprus, not a bosom. 
Hides my poor heart : So let me hear you speak. 

Vio. I pity you. 

Oli. That's a degree to love. 

Vio. No, not a step ; for 'tis a vulgar proof, 
That very oft we pity enemies. 

Oli. Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again. 
O world, how apt the poor are to be proud ! 

* Denial. 



ii 



TWELFTH-NIGHT. 367 

If one should be a prey, how much the better 

To fall before the lion, than the wolf? [Clock strikes. 

The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. — 

Be not afraid, good youth, T will not have you : 

And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, 

Your wife is like to reap a proper man : 

There lies your way, due west. 

Vio. Then westward-ho : 

Grace, and good disposition 'tend your ladyship ! 
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me ? 

OU. Stay: ^ 
I pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me. 

Vio. That you do think, you are not what you are. 

on. If I think so, I think the same of you. 

Yio. Then think you right ; I am not what I am. 

Oil. I would you were as I would have you be ! 

Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am, 
I wish it might ; for now I am your fool. 

on. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful 
In the contempt and anger of his lip ! 
A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon 
Than love that would seem hid : love's night is noon. 
Cesario, by the roses of the spring. 
By maidhood, honor, truth, and every thing, 
I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride. 
Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide. 
Do not extort thy reasons froai this clause, 
For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause : 
But, rather, reason thus with reason fetter : 
Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better. 

Vio. By innocence I sw^ear, and by my youth, 
I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth. 
And that no woman has ; nor never none 
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. 
And so adieu, good madam ; never more 
Will I my master's tears to you deplore. 

on. Yet come again : for thou, perhaps, may'st move 
That heart, which now abhors, to hke his love. [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

Sebastian, the twin-brother of Viola, is saved from the wreck in which he believes his 
sister was lost. Having business at Orsino's court, he arrives there accompanied by his 
friend Antonio. He is supposed to be the exact counterpart of his sister, as she appears, 
when disguised as the Page. In passing near OHvia's house, he is encountered by a 
servant of the lady's, who has been sent to request Viola will come and speak with 
Olivia. He denies all knowledge of the lady, but Olivia enters, and believing him to be 
Viola, entreats him to enter the house : he consents, — and the lady so charms him, that 



808 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

he yields a willing assent to her proposals of immediate marriage. The Duke still persist 
ing in his passion for Olivia, determines to seek the lady in person, accompanied by 
Viola. On reaching Olivia's house, he is met by Antonio, Sebastian's friend, who 
accosts Viola, supposing her to be Sebastian. The Duke, supposing the man to be in- 
sane, indignantly rebukes him. — OUvia enters from the house, and seeing Viola, addresses 
her as her lately married husband. 

Diike. Here comes the countess ; now heaven walks on earth. — 
But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness : 
Three months this youth hath tended upon me ; 
But more of that anon. — — Take him aside. 

Oil. What would my lord, but that he may not have, 
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable ? — 
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. 

Vio. Madam? 

Duke. Gracious Olivia, 

OIL What do you say, Cesario ? Good my lord, 

Vio. My lord would speak, my duty hushes me. 

OIL If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, 
It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear. 
As howling after music. 

Diike. Still so cruel ? 

OIL Still so constant, lord. 

Duke. What ! to perverseness ? you uncivil lady, 
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars 
My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath breath'd out, 
That e'er devotion tender'd ! What shall I do ? 

Oil. Even what it please my lord, that shall become him. 

Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, 
Like to the Egyptiaa thief, at point of death. 
Kill what I love ; a savage jealousy. 
That sometime savors nobly ? — But hear me this : 
Since you to non-regardance cast my faith. 
And that I partly know the instrument 
That screws me from my true place in your favor, 
Live you, the marble-breasted tyrant, still ; 
But this your minion, whom, I know, you love, 
And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly. 
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye. 
Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. — 
Come, boy, with me ; my thoughts are ripe in mischief; 
I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love. 
To spite a raven's heart within a dove. [Going, 

Vio. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly. 
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.*^ [Following. 

OIL Where goes Cesario ? 

Vio, After him I love. 

More than I love these eyes, more than my life. 
More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife : 



TWELFTH-^'IGHT. 369 

If I do feign, you witnesses above. 
Punish my life, for tainting of my love ! 

Oil. Ah me, detested ! how am I beguil'd ! 

Vio. Who does beguile you ? who does do you wrong ? 

on. Hast thou forgot thyself ? Is it so long ? — 
Call forth the holy fafher. ' [Exit an Attendant 

Duke, ' Come away. [To Yioul 

Oli. Whither, my lord ? Cesario. husband, stay. 

Duke. Husband ? 

Oli. Ay. husband, can he that deny ? 

Duke. Her husband, sirrah ? 

Vio. Xo. my lord, not I. 

Oli. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear. 
That makes thee strangle thy propriety : 
Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up ; 
Be that thou know'st thou art. and then thou art 
As great as that thou fear'st. — O, welcome, father ! 

Re-enter Attendant ajid Priest. 

Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence, 
Here to unfold (though lately we intended 
To keep in darkness, what occasion now 
Reveals before 'tis ripe,) what thou dost know. 
Hath newly past between this youth and me. 

Priest. A contract of eternal bond of love, 
Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands. 
Attested by the holy close of lips, 
Strengthened by interchangement of your rings ; 
And all the ceremony of this compact 
Seal'd in my function, by my testimonv : 
Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave, 
I have travelled but two hours. 

Duke. O, thou dissembling cub ! what wilt thou be 
When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case ? 
Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow. 
That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow ? 
Farewell, and take her ; but direct thy feet. 
Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. 

Vio. My lord, I do protest, — 

Oli. O, do not swear ; 

Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear. 

Enter Sebastian. 

Duke. One face, one habit, and two persons ; 
A natural perspective, that is, and is not. 

Seb. Antonio, O my dear Antonio ! 
How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me, 
Since I have lost thee. 



370 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Ant. Sebastian are you ? 

Seb, Fear'st thou that, Antonio 1 

Ant. How have you made division of yourself? — 
An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin 
Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian ? 

Oil. Most wonderful ! 

Seh, Do I stand there ? I never had a brother : 
Nor can there be that deity in my nature, 
Of here and every where. I had a sister, 
Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd : — 
Of charity, what kin are you to me ? [To Viola. 

What countryman ? what name ? what parentage ? 

Vio. Of Messaline : Sebastian was my father , 
Such a Sebastian was my brother too, 
So went he suited to his watery tomb : 
If spirits can assume both form and suit 
You come to fright us. 

8eb. Were you a woman, as the rest goes ev^en, 
I should my tears let fall upon your cheek. 
And say — Thrice welcome, drowned Viola ! 

Vio. ]\Iy father had a mole upon his brow. 

Seh. And so had mine. 

Vio. And died that day when Viola from her birtk 
Had number'd thirteen years. 

^eb. O, that record is lively in my soul ! 
He finished, indeed, in his mortal act. 
That day that made my sister thirteen years. 

Vio. If nothing lets to make us happy both 
But this my masculine usurp'd attire. 
Do not embrace me, till each circumstance 
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere, and jump, 
That I am Viola : which to confirm, 
I'll bring you to a captain in this town. 
Where lie my maiden weeds ; by whose gentle help 
I was preserv'd, to serve this noole count ; 
All the occurrence of my fortune since 
Hath been between this lady and this lord. 

Seh. So comes it, lady, you have been mistook : [ To Olivia. 

But nature to her bias drew in that, 
You would have been contracted to a maid ; 
Nor are you therein, by my Hfe, deceiv'd. 
You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. 

Duke. Be not amaz'd ; right noble is his blood. — 
If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, 
I shall have share in this most happy wreck : 

Boy, thou hast said t© me a thousand times, [To Vio. 

Thou never should'st love woman like to me. 

Via. And all those sayings v/ill I over-swear ; 
And all those swearings keep as true in soul, 



TWELFTH-NIGHT. B71 

As doth that orbed continent the fire 
That severs day from night. 

Duke. Give me thy hand ; 

And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. 

Vio. The captain, that did bring me first on shore, 
Hath my maid's garments : he upon some action, 
Is now in durance : at Malvolio's suit, 
A gentleman, and follower of my lady's. 

on. He shall enlarge him. 
My lord, so please you, these things further thought on, 
To thi.nk me as well a sister as a wife, 
One day shall crown the alliance ont, so please you, 
Here at my house, and at my proper cost. 

Duke. Madam, I am most apt to embrace your offer. — 
Your master quits you; — [^To Viola.] — and, for your ser\'ice done 

him, 
So much against the mettle of your sex, 
So far beneath your soft and tender breeding. 
And since you calPd me master for so long, 
Here is my hand ; you shall from this time be 
Your master's mistress. 

Oli. A sister ? — you are she. 

Duke. A. solemn combination shall be made 
Of our dear souls — Meantime, sweet sister, 
We will not part from hence. — Cesario, come ; 
For so you shall be, while you are a man ; 
But, when in other habits you are seen, 
Orsino's mistress, and his fancy's queen. [ExeuTii. 



MEASUEE FOR MEASURE. 



The outline of this Play is taken from a novel of Cinthio, the Italian novelist and 
tragic author, to whom Shakspeare was likewise indebted for the story of Othello. 

Measure for Measure, presents us with one of the most perfect of our author's female 
characters in the person of Isabella. Dr. Blake says, of this beautiful creation, that 
" Piety, spotless purity, tenderness combined with firmness, and an eloquence the most per- 
suasive, unite to render her singularly interesting and attractive." Of the general excellence 
of this Drama, Mr. Verplanck justly remarks, that " there is no composition, of the 
same length, in the language, which has left more of its expressive phrases, its moral aphor- 
isms, its brief sentences, ciowded with meaning, fixed on the general memory, and em- 
bodied by daily use in every form of popular eloquence, argument, and iiteracure." 

Our extracts, though necessarily brief, will be found to embody the principal striking 
beauties of this truly impressive composition. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

ViCENTio, Du'ke 0/ Vienna. 

Angelo, lord deputy in the Duke's absence. 

EscALUS, an ancient lord, joined with Angelo in the deputation. 

Claudio, a young gentleman. 

Lucio, a fantastic. 

Two other like gentlemen. 

Varrius, a gentleman, servant to the Duke. 

Provost. 

Thomas, Peter, two friars. 

A Justice. 

Elbow, a simple constable. 

Froth, a foolish gentleman. 

Clown, servant to Mrs. Over-done. 

Abhorson, an executioner. 

Barnardine, a dissolute prisoner. 

Isabella, sister to Claudio. 
Mariana, betrothed to Angelo. 
Juliet, beloved by Claudio. 
Francisca, a nun. 
Mistress Over-doxe, 

Lords, Gentleynen, Guards, Officers, and other Attendants. 

SCENE.— ViExNNA. 



^ 



MEASURE FOR 3IEASURE. 373 

The Duke of Vienna, determines to examine in person, the condition of his people. 
To do this effectnally he purposes to resign, for a period, his government into the keejiing 
of Lord Angelo, and Escalus, and in disguise to mLx with his subjects and learn their 
actual condition, and ascertain whether the laws are faithfully administered. 

ACT 1. 

SCENE l.—Afi Apartment in the Duke's Palace. 
E'/iier Duke. Escalus, Lords. a?id Attendants. 

Duke. Escalus, — 

Escal. My lord. 

Di'.ke. Of government the properties to unfold, 
Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse ; 
Since I am put to know, that your own science 
Exceeds, in that, the lists of all ad\ice 
My strength can give you : Then no more remains 
But that Fo your sufficiency, as your worth is able. 
And let them work. The nature of our people, 
Our city's institutions, and the terms 
For common justice, you are as pregnant in, 

As art and practice hath enriched any M 

That we remember : There is our commission, 
From \\hich we would not have you warp. — Call hither, 
I say. bid come before us Angelo. — [Exit an Attendant 

What figure of us think you he will bear ? 
For you must know, we have with special soul 
Elected him our absence to supply ; 
Lent him our terror, drest him with our love ; 
And given his deputation all the organs 
Of our own power : What think you of it ? 

Escal. If any in Vienna be of worth 
To undergo such ample grace and honor. 
It is lord Angelo. 

E-nte?' AxGELo. 

Duke. __ Look, where he comes. 

Ang. Always obedient to your grace's will, 
I come to know your pleasure. 

Duke. Angeb, 

There is a kind of character in thy life, 
That, to the obser^'er, doth thy history 
Fully unfo'd : Thyself and thy belongings 
Are not thine own so proper, as to waste 
Thyself upon thy virtues, them on thee. 
Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do ; 
Not light them for themselves : for if our virtues 
Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike 
As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touched. 



$ 



It 



314: SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

But to fine issues ; nor nature never lends 

The smallest scruple of her excellence, 

But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines 

Herself the glory of a creditor. 

Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech 

To one that can my part in him advertise : 

Hold therefore, Angelo ; 

In our remove, be thou at full ourself : — 

Mortality and mercy in Vienna 

Live in thy tongue and heart : Escalus, 

Though first in question, is the secondary : 

Take thy commission. 

Aug. Now, good my lord, 

Let there be some more test made of my metal, 
Before so noble and so great a figure 
Be stamp'd upon it. 

Duke. No more evasion : 

We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice 
Proceeded to you ; therefore take your honors 
Our haste from hence is of so quick condition, 
That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestioned 
Matters of needful value. We shall write to you, 
As time and our concemings shall importune, 
How it goes with us ; and do look to know 
What doth befall you here. So, fare you well : 
To the hopeful execution do I leave you 
Of your commissions. 

Ang. Yet, give leave, my lord. 

That we may bring you something on the way. 

Duke. My haste may not admit it ; 
Nor need you, on mine honor, have to do 
With any scruple : your scope is as mine own : 
So to enforce, or quahfy the laws 
As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand ; 
I'll privily a\vay : I love the people. 
But do not like to stage me to their eyes : 
Though it do well, I do not relish well 
Their loud applause, and aves vehement : 
Nor do I think the man of safe discretion, 
That does affect it. Once more, fare you well. 

Ang. The heavens give safety to your purposes ! 

Escal. Lead forth, and bring you back in happiness. 

Duke. I thank you : Fare you well. [Exit 

Escal. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave 
To have free speech with you ; and it concerns me 
To look into the bottom of my place : 
A power I have ; but of what strength and nature 
I am not yet instructed. 

Ang. 'Tis so with me : — Let us withdraw tocrether 



I 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 375 

And we may soon our satisfaction have 
Touching that point. 

Escal. I'll wait upon your honor. [Exeunt. 

Che Duke proceeds to a Monastery in the city, and assumes the dis<^uise of a Friar. 

SCENE.— A Monastery, 

Enter Duke, and. Friar Thomas. 

Duke, No ; holy father ; throw away that thought ; 
Eelieve not that the dribbling dart of love 
Can pierce a complete bosom : why I desire thee 
To give me secret harbor, hath a purpose 
More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends 
Of burning youth. 

Fri. May your grace speak of it ? 

Duke, My holy sir, none better knows than you 
How I have ever lov'd the Hfe removed ; 
And held in idle price to haunt assemblies, 
Where youth, and costs, and witless bravery keeps. 
1 have deliver'd to lord Angelo 
(A man of stricture, and firm abstinence,) 
My absolute power and place here in Vienna, 
And he supposes me travelled to Poland ; 
For so I have strew'd it in the common ear, 
And so it is receiv'd : Now, pious sir, 
You will demand of me, why I do this ? 

Fri. Gladly, my lord. 

Duke. We have strict statutes, and most biting laws, 
(The needful bits and curbs for headstrong steeds,) 
Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep ; 
Even hke an o'ergrown lion in a cave. 
That goes not out to prey : Now, as fond fathers 
Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch. 
Only to stick it in their children's sight, 
For terror, not to use ; in time the rod 
Becomes more mock'd, than fear'd, so our decrees, 
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead ; 
And liberty plucks justice by the nose. 
The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart 
Goes ail decorum. 

Fri. It rested on your grace 

To unloose this tied-up justice, when you pleas'd : 
And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd, 
Than in Lord Angelo. 

Duke. I do fear, too dreadful : 

Sitli 'twas my fault to give the people scope, 
'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them 
For what I bid them do : For we bid this be done, 



376 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

When evil deeds have their permissive pass, 

And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my father, 

I have on Angelo impos'd the office ; 

Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home, 

And yet my nature never in the sight, 

To do it slander : And to behold his sway, 

I will, as 'twere a brother of your order. 

Visit both prince and people : therefore, I pr'ythee. 

Supply me with the habit, and instruct me 

How I may formally in person bear me 

Like a true friar. More reasons for this action, 

At our more leisure shall I render you ; 

Only, this one : — Lord Angelo is precise : 

Stands at a guard with envy ; scarce confesses 

That his blood flows, or that his appetite 

Is more to bread than stone : Hence shall we see, 

If power change purpose, what our seemers be. [Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Angelo assumes the government, with rigid severity ; he calls into enactment, old 
laws, long disused, and makes offenders pay the utmost penalty for their transgressions. 

Claudio, a profligate young gentleman, is condemned to death, under one of these re- 
vived laws. He prevails on his sister Isabella, a young novice, to leave the cloister, and 
go in person to Angelo, and endeavor to obtain a pardon from the Lord Deputy. 

SCENE.— A hall in Angelo's House, 
Enter Angelo, and Escalus. 

Ang. We must not make a scare-crow of the law, 
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey. 
And let it keep one shape, till custom make it 
Their perch, and not their terror. 

EscaL Ay, but yet 

Let us be keen, and rather cut a httle, 
Than fall, and bruise to death : Alas ! this gentleman, 
Whom I would save, had a most noble father. 
Let but your honor know, 
(Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue.) 
That, in the working of your own affections. 
Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing. 
Or that the resolute acting of your blood 
Could have attain'd the effect of your own purpose. 
Whether you had not sometime in your life 
Err'd in this point which now you censure him, 
And puU'd the law upon you. 

Ang. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, 
Another thing to fall. I not deny, 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 377 

The jnr\^ passing on the prisoner's life. 

May, in the sworn twelve, have a thief or two 

Guiltier than him they try : What's open made to justice, 

That justice seizes. What know the laws, 

That thieves do pass on thieves ? 'Tis very pregnant, 

The jewel that we find, we stoop and take it, 

Because we see it ; but what we do not see, 

We tread upon, and never think of it. 

You may not so extenuate his offence, 

For I have had such faults : but rather tell me. 

When I, that censure him, do so offend. 

Let mine own judgment pattern out my death. 

And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. 

Escal. Be it as your wisdom will. 

Aivg, Where is the provost ? 

Prov. Here, if it like your honor. 

Ang. See that Claudio 

Be executed by nine to-morrow^ morning : 
Bring him his confessor, let him be prepar'd ; 
For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. \^Exit Provost. 

Escal. Well, heaven forgive him ! and forgive us all ! 
Some rise by sin, and some by \irtue fall : 
Some run from brakes of vice, and answer none ; 
And some condemned for a fault alone. 

SCENE. — Another Room in the same. 
Enter Provost and a Ser\'ant. 

Sew. He's hearing of a cause ; he will come straight. 
I'll tell him of you. 

Prov. Pray you do. — \^Exit Servant.] — I'll know 
His pleasure ; may be. he will relent. 

Enter Axgelo. 

Ang. Now, what's the matter, provost ? 

Pro I". Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow ? 

Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea ? hadst thou not order ? 
Why dost thou ask again ? 

Prov. Lest I might be too rash : 

Under your good correction, I have seen, 
When, after execution, judgment hath 
Repented o'er his doom. 

Ang. Go to ; let that be mine : 

Do you your office, or give up your place, 
And you shall well be spar'd. 

Re-enter Servant. 

Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemned, 
Desires access to you. 



378 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Ang. Hath he a sister ? 

Prov. Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid, 
And to be shortly of a sisterhood, 
If not already. 

Ang. Well, let her be admitted. [Exit Servant 

Entei' Isabella. 

Prov. Save your honor ! 

A7ig. Stay a little while. — [To Isab.] — You are welcome* 
What's your will ? 

Isab. I am a woful suitor to your honor^ 
Please but your honor hear me. 

Ang. Well, what's your suit ? 

Isab. There is a vice, that most I do abhor. 
And most desire should meet the blow of justice ; 
For which I would not plead, but that I must ; 
For which I must not plead, but that I am 
At war, 'twixt will, and will not. 

Ang. Well ; the matter ? 

Isab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die : 
I do beseech you, let it be his fault, 
And not my brother. 

A7ig. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it ! 
Why, every fault's condemn'd, ere it be done : 
Mine was the very cipher of a function. 
To find the iaults, whose fine stands in record. 
And let go by the actor. 

Isab. O just, but severe law ! 

I had a brother then. — Must he needs die ? 

Ang. Maiden, no remedy. 

Isab. Yes ; I do think that you might pardon him, 
And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy. 

Ang. I will not do't. 

Isab. But can you, if you would ? 

Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. 

Isab. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong, 
If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse 
As mine is to him ? 

Aiig. He's sentenc'd ; 'tis too late. 

Isab. Too late ? why, no ; I, that do speak a word, 
May call it back again : Well, believe this, 
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, 
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, 
The marshal's. truncheon, nor the judge's robe. 
Become them with one half so good a grace. 
As mercy does. If he had been as you. 
And you as he, you would have slipt like him ; 
But he, like you, would not have been so stern. 

Ang. Pray you, begone. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 379 

Isah. I would to heaven I had your potency. 
And you were Isabel : should it then be thus ? 
Xo ; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge, 
And what a prisoner. 

Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law. 
And you but waste your words. 

Isah. Alas ! alas ! 

^^'hy. all the souls that were, were forfeit once ; 
And* He that might the vantage best have took, 
Found out the remedy : How would you be. 
If he, which is the top of judgment, should 
But judge you as you are ? O, think on that ; 
And mercy then will breathe within your lips. 
Like man new made. 

Ang. Be you content, fair maid ; 

It is the law, not I, condemns your brother : 
Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son. 
It should be thus with him ; — he must die to-morrow. 

Isah. To-morrow ? O, that's sudden ! Spare him, spare him ; 
He's not prepar'd for death I Even for our kitchens 
We kill the fowl of season ; shall we ser\e heaven 
With less respect than we do minister 
To our gross selves ? Good, good my lord, bethink you : 
Who is it that hath died for this offence ? 
There's many have committed it. 

Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept : 
Those many had not dar'd to do that e\il. 
If the first man that did the edict infringe. 
Had answer'd for his deed : now, 'tis awake : 
Takes note of what is done ; and, hke a prophet, 
Loolvs in a glass, that shows what future evils, 
(Either now, or by remissness new-conceiv'd, 
^ And so in progress to be hatch'd and bom,) 
Are now to have no successive degrees, 
But, where they live, to end. 

Isah. Yet show some pity. 

Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice ; 
For then I pit}' those I do not know, 
Which a dismissed offence would after gall ; 
And do hini right, that, answering one foul wrong. 
Lives not to act another. Be satisfied ; 
Your brother dies LO-m.orrow ; be content. 

Isah. So you must be the first that gives this sentence; 
And he, tliat suffers : O, it is excellent 
To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous 
To use it like a giant. 
Could great men thunder 

As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet. 
For ever}^ pelting, petty officer 



[ 



380 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Would use his heaven for thunder : nothing but thunder. 

Merciful hea-ven ! 

Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, 

Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, 

Than the soft myrtle ; — But man, proud man ! 

Drest in a little brief authority ; 

Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd, 

His glassy essence, — like an angry ape 

Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, 

As make the angels weep ; who, with our spleens. 

Would all themselves laugh mortal. 

We cannot weigh our brother with ourself : 

Great men may jest with saints : 'tis wit in them ; 

But, in the less, foul profanation. 

That in the captain's but a choleric word. 

Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. 

Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me ? 

Isab. Because authority, though it err like others, 
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself. 
That skins the vice o' the top : Go to your bosom ; 
Knock there ; and ask your heart, what it doth know 
That's like my brother's fault : if it confess 
A natural guiltiness, such as is his. 
Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue 
Against my brother's life. 

Ang. [Aside.'] She speaks, and 'tis 
Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. Fare you well. 

Isab, Gentle my lord, turn back. 

Ang. I will bethink me : — Come again to-morrow. 

Isab. Hark, how I'll bribe you : Good my lord, turn back. 

Ang. How ! bribe me ? 

Isab. Ay, with such gifts, that heaven shall share with you. 
Not with fond shekels of the tested gold, 
Or stones, whose rates are either rich, or poor, 
As fancy values them : but with true prayers, 
That shall be up at heaven, and enter there, 
Ere sunrise : prayers from preserved souls, 
From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate 
To nothing temporal. 

Ang. Well : come to me 

To-morrow. 

Isab. Heaven keep your honor safe ! 
At what hour to-morrow 
Shall I attend your lordship ? 

Ang, At any time 'fore noon. 

Isab. Save your honor ! [Exeunt, 



I 



MEASURE FOR JIEASfRE. 881 



ACT III. 

Isabella visits Angelo, at the time appointed, and renews her suit. The apparently 
stern disf)enser of Justice, makes dishonorable proposals to lier, as the price of her 
brother's life ; she indignantly repels him ; and hastens to the prison where Claudio is 
confined, to tell him that he must prepare for death. 

The Duke is made acquainted with Claudio's situation, and visits him in his disguise 
as a Friar. 

SCENE.— A Room in the Prison. 
Enter Duke. Claudio, and Provost 

Duke. So, then you hope of pardon from lord Angelo ? 

Claud. The miserable have no other medicine. 
But only hope : 
I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. 

Duke. Be absolute for death ; either death, or life, 
Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus \\ath Hfe, — 
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing 
That none but fools would keep : a breatii thou art, 
(Servile to all the skiey influences,) 
That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st, 
Hourly afliict : merely, thou art death's fool ; 
For him thou labor'st by thy flight to shun, 
And yet run'st toward him still : Thou art not noble, 
For all the accommodations that thou bear'st, 
Are nurs'd by baseness : Thou art by no means valiant ; 
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork 
Of a poor worm : Thy best of rest is sleep. 
And that thou oft provok'st ; yet grossly fear'st 
Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself; 
For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains 
That issue out of dust : Happy thou art not : 
For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get ; 
And what thou hast, forget'st : Thou art not certain ; 
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects. 
After the moon : If thou art rich, thou art poor ; 
For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, 
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, 
And death unloads thee : 
Thou hast nor youth, nor age ; 
But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, 
Dreaming on both : for all thy blessed youth 
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms 
Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old, and rich, 
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, 
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this, 
That bears the name of life ? Yet in this life 



382 SilAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Lie hid more thousand deaths : yet death we fear, 
That makes these odds all even. . 

Claud. I humbly thank you. 

To sue to live, I find, I seek to die ; 
And, seeking death, find life : Let it come on. 

Enter Isabella. 

Isah. What, ho ! Peace here ; grace and good company ! 

Prov. Who's there ? come in : the wish deserves a welcome. 

Duke. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again. 

Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you. 

Isab. My business is a word or two with Claudio. 

Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior, here's your sister. 

Duke. Provost, a word with you. 

Pj'ov. As many as you please. 

Duke. Bring them to speak, where I may be conceal'd. 
Yet hear them. [Exeunt Duke and Provost. 

Claud. Now sister, what's the comfort ? 

Isah. Why, as all comforts are ; most good indeed. 
Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven. 
Intends you for his swift embassador. 
Where you shall be an everlasting lieger ; 
Therefore your best appointment make with speed ; 
To-morrow you set on. 

Claud. Is there no remedy ? 

Isab. None, but such remedy, as, to save a head, 
To cleave a heart in twain. 

Claud. But is there any ? 

Isab. Yes, brother, you may live ; 
There is a devilish mercy in the judge, 
If you'll implore it, that will free your life, 
But fetter you till death. 

Claud. Perpetual durance ? 

Isab. Ay, just perpetual durance ; a restraint, 
Though all the world's vastidity you had, 
To a determin'd scope. 

Claud. But in what nature ? 

Isab. In such a one as (you consenting to't) 
Would bark your honor from that trunk you bear, 
And leave you naked. 

Claud. Let me know the point. 

Isah. O, I do fear thee, Claudio ; and I quake, 
Lest thou a feverish life should'st entertain. 
And six or seven winters more respect 
Than a perpetual honor. Dar'st thou die ? 
The sense of death is most in apprehension ; 
And the poor beetle that we tread upon. 
In corporal sufferance finds a pang afe great, 
As when a giant dies. 



MEASURE FOE MEASURE. 883 

Claud. Why give you me this shame ? 

Think you I can a resolution fetch 
From flowery tenderness ? If I must die, 
I will encounter darkness as a bride. 
And hug it in mine arms. 

Isab, There spake my brother ; there my father's grave 
Did utter forth a voice I Yes, thou must die : 
Thou art too noble to conserve a life 
In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy, — 
Whose settled visage and deliberate word 
Xips youth i' the head, and folhes doth enmew. 
As falcon doth the fowl. — is yet a de\'il. 

Claud. The princely Angelo ? 
O heavens ! it cannot be. 

Isah. O, were it but my life, 
I'd throw it down for your deliverance 
As frankly as a pin. 

Claud. Thanks, dear Isabella. 

Isah. Be readv. Claudio. for vour death to-morrow. 

Claud. O Isabel ! ' * 

Isah. What says my brother ? 

Claud. Death is a fearful thing. 

Isah. And shamed life a hateful. 

Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; 
To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot : 
This sensible warm motion to become 
A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit 
To bathe in fier>' floods, or to reside 
In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice ; 
To be imprison'd in the viewless ^^inds, 
And blown with restless \iolence round about 
The pendent world ; or to be worse than worst 
Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts 
Imagine howling ! — 'tis too horrible ! 
The weariest and most loathed worldly life. 
That age. ache, pemm^, and imprisonment 
Can lay on nature, is a paradise 
To what we fear of death. 

Isah. Alas I alas ! 

Claud. Sweet sister, let me live : 

What sin you do to save a brother's life. 
Nature dispenses with the deed so far. 
That it becomes a virtue. 

Isah. O, faithless coward I O, dishonest WTetch 
Take my defiance : 

Die ; perish ! might but my bending down 
Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed : 
I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death, 
No word to save thee. 



,5 

L 



J^4 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel. 
Isah. O, fye, fye, fye ! 

'Tis best that thou diest quickly. [Going. 

The Duke overhears the conversation between Claudio and his sister, and touched 
with the virtue and dignity of Isabel's character, he plans a mode by which Claudic 
may escape tbf penalty of the Law, and Angelo shall receive a well-merited punishment 
for his abuse of power. 



K I Is G JOHN. 



King John, is the first of that series of Dramas, written by our Poet to illustrate som* 
of the most important events in English history. The old chroniclers furnished him 
with abundant materisil for his labors ; but in this Play he has taken a chronicle 
historical Drama, entitled "The Troublesome Raigne of John, King of England," 
and by his incomparable powers of transmutation, he has presented us with a vivid, 
life-stirring picture of the eventful reign of this, one of the weakest monarchs that ever 
Bwayed the sceptre of England. 

The chief interest in this Drama, is centred in the events connected with the Lady 
Constance and her son Arthur ; we have therefore confined our selections to the scenes in 
which their mournful history is portrayed. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Kins John. 

Prince Henry, his son ; afterwards King Henry HI. 

Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, son of Geffrey, late Duke of Bre- 

tagne, tJie elder brother of King John. 
William Mareshall, Earl of Pembroke. 

Geffrey Fitz- Peter, Earl of Essex, chief justiciary of England. 
William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury. 
Robert Bigot, Earl of Xcrfolk. 
Hubert de Burgh, chamberlain to the King. 
Robert Faulconbrilge, son of Sir Robert Faulconbridge. 
Philip Faulconbridge, his half-brother, illegitimate son to King 

Richard the First. 
James Gurney, servant to Lady Faulconbridge. 
Peter, of Pomfret, a prophet. 
Philip, King 0/ France. 
Lewis, the Dauphin, 
Archduke of Austria. 
Cardinal Pandulph, the Pope's lesate, 
18 



386 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Melun, a French lord. 

Chatillon, ambassador from France to King John. 

Elinor, the widow of King Henry II., and mother of King John. 

Const A.NCE, mother to Arthur. 

Blanch, daughter to Alphonso, King of Castile, and viece to 

King John. 
Lady Faulconbridge. 
Lords, Ladies, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, Officers, 

Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants. 
SCENE. — Sometimes in England, and sometim s in France. 



act III. 

We commence our extracts at the period when King John invades France with a 
numerous army, to chastise Phihp for espousing the cause of Prince Arthur, the rightful 
heir to the English throne. 

The contending armies of England and France, meet before the city of Angiers ; and 
after a battle, in which each party claims the victory, a pease is declared between the 
Sovereigns, to be cemented by ihe marriage of the French King's son, to Blanch, the 
niece of John. Philip further engages to break his league with the Lady Constance, and 
her son. The indignation and grief of the widowed mother, is beautifully depicted in the 
following scene. 

SCENE .^Angiers. The French King's Tent. 
Enter Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury. 

Const. Gone to be married ! gone to swear a peace ! 
False blood to false blood join'd ! Gone to be friends ! 
Shall Lewis have Blanch ? and Blanch those provinces ? 
It is not so ; thou hast mis-spoke, misheard ; 
Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again : 
It cannot be ; thou dost but say, 'tis so : 
I trust, I may not trust thee ; for thy word 
Is but the vain breath of a common man : 
Believe me, I do not believe thee, man ; 
I have a king's oath to the contrary. 
Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me, 
For I am sick, and capable of fears ; 
Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears ; 

A widow, husbandless, subject to fears ; J ll 

A woman, naturally born to fears ; f f 

And though thou now confess, thou didst but jest, 
With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce, 
But they will quake and tremble all this day. 
What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head ? 



i 



KIXG JOHX. 387 

"Why dost thou look so sadly on my son ? 
What means that hand upon that breast of thine ! 
\Vhy holds thine eye that lamentable rheum. 
Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds ? 
Be these sad signs confirmers of thy \vords ? 
Then speak again ; not all thy former tale. 
But this one word, whether thy tale be true. 

Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think them false, 
That give you cause to prove my saying true. 

Const. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow, 
Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die ; 
And let behef and life encounter so, 
As doth the fury of two desperate men, 
Which, in the very meeting, fall, and die. — 
Lewis marry Blanch ! O, boy, then where art thou ? 
France friend with England ! what becomes of me ? — 
Fellow, begone ! I cannot brook thy sight ; 
This news hath made thee a most ugly man. 

Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done, 
But spoke the harm that is by others done ? 

Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is. 
As it makes hamiful all that speak of it. 

Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content. 

Const. If thou, that bid'st me be content, were grim, 
Full of unpleasing blots, and sightless stains, 
Lame, foolish, crook'd, swart, prodigious, 
Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks, 
I would not care, I tlien would be content ; 
For then I should not love thee ; no, nor thou 
Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown. 
But thou art fair ; and at thy birth, dear boy ! 
jNature and fortune join'd to make thee great : 
Of nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast. 
And with the half-blown rose : but fortune, O ! 
She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee ; 
She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John ; 
And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France 
To tread down fair respect of sovereignty. 
Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn ? 
Envenom him \vith words ; or get thee gone, 
And leave these woes alone, which I alone, 
Am bound to under-bear. 

Sal. Pardon me, madam, 

I may not go without you to the kings. 

Const. Thou may'st, thou shalt, I will not go with thee : 
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud : 
For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. 
To me, and to the state of my great grief, 
Let kinofs assemble, for mv ofrief 's so SH'eat. 



388 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

That no supporter but the huge firm earth 
Can hold it up : here I and sorrow sit ; 
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. 

[She throws herself on the ground. 

Enter King John, King Philip, Lewis, Blanch, Elinor, Faul- 
CONBRIDGE. AUSTRIA, and iVttendants. 

K, Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter ; and this blessed day, 
Ever in France shall be kept festival : 
To solemnize this day, the glorious sun 
Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist ; 
Turning, with splendor of his precious eye. 
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold : 
The yearly course, that brings this day about, 
Shall never see it but a holy day. 

Const. A wicked day, and not a holyday ! — [Rising. 

What hath this day deserv'd ? what hath it done : 
That it in golden letters should be set, 
Among the high tides, in the calendar ? 
Nay, neither, turn this day out of the week ; 
This day of shame, oppression, perjury : 
This day, all things begun come to ill end ; 
Ye£, faith itself to hollow falsehood change ! 

K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause 
To curse the fair proceedings of this day : 
Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty ? 

Const. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit 
Resembhng majesty ; which, being touch'd, and tried, 
Proves valueless : You are forsworn, forsworn ; 
You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood. 
But now in arms, you strengthen it with yours : 
The grappling vigor and rough frown of war, 
Is cold in amity and painted peace. 
And our oppression hath made up this league : — 
Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjured kings ! 
A widow cries ; be husband to me, heavens ! 
Let not the hours of this ungodly day 
Wear out the day in peace ; but, ere sunset. 
Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings ! 
Hear me, O, hear me ! 

Aust. Lady Constance, peace. 

Const. War ! war ! no peace ! peace is to me a war. 
O Lymoges ! O Austria ! thou dost shame 
That bloody spoil : Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward ; 
Thou little valiant, great in villany ! 
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side ! 
Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight 
But when her humorous ladyship is by 
To teach thee safety ! Thou cold-blooded slave, 



KING JOHN. 389 

Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side ? 
Been sworn my soldier ? bidding me depend 
Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength ? 
And dost thou now fall over to my foes ? 
Thou wear a hon's hide ! doff it for shame, 
And hang a calfs-skin on those recreant limbs. 

Aust. O, that a man should speak those words to me ! 

Faul. And hang a calfs-skin on those recreant limbs. 

Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for tliy life. 

FauL And hang a calfs-skin on tliose recreant limbs. 

K. John. We like not this ; thou dost forget thyself 

Enter Paxdulph. 

K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the pope. 

Pand. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven ! 
To thee, king John, my holy errand is. 
I, Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal, 
And from pope Innocent the legate here. 
Do, in his name, rehgiously demand, 
Why thou against the church, our holy mother, 
kSo wilfully dost spurn ; and, force perforce, 
Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop 
Of Canterbury, from that holy see ? 
This, in our 'foresaid holy father's name. 
Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee. 

K. John. What earthly name to inten-ogatories, 
Can task the free breath of a sacred king ? 
Thou canst not, cardinal, de\ise a name 
So sUght, unworthy, and ridiculous, 
To charge m^e to an answer, as the pope. 
Tell him this tale ; and from the mouth of England, 
Add thus much more, — That no Itahan priest 
Shall tithe or toll in our dominions ; 
But as we under heaven are supreme head. 
So, under him, that great supremacy. 
Where we do reign, we will alone uphold. 
Without the assistance of a mortal hand : 
So tell the pope ; all reverence set apart, 
To him, and his usurp'd authority. 

K. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this. 

K. John. Though you, and all the kings of Christendom, 
Are led so grossly by this meddling priest. 
Dreading the curse that money may buy out ; 
And, by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust, 
Purchase corrupted pardon of a man. 
Who, in that sale, sells pardon from himself; 
Though you, and all the rest, so grossly led. 
This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish ; 



390 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Yet I, alone, alone do me oppose 

Against the pope, and coimt his friends my foes. 

Pand. Then by the lawful power that I have, 
Thou shalt stand curs'd, and excommunicate : 
And blessed shall he be, that doth revolt 
From his allegiance to an heretic ; 
And meritorious shall that hand be cali'd, 
Canoniz'd, and worship'd as a saint, 
That takes away by anv secret course 
Thy hateful life. 

Const. O, lawful let it be, 

That I have room with Rome to curse awhile ! 
Good father cardinal, cry thou, amen. 
To my keen curses : for, without my wTong, 
There is no tongue hath power to curse him right. 

Pand. There^s law and warrant, lady, for my curse. 

Const. And for mine too ; when law can do no right, 
Let it be lawful, that law" bar no wrong : 
Law cannot give my child his kingdom here ; 
For he, that holds his kingdom, holds the law : 
Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong. 
How can the law forbid my tongue to curse ? 

Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse. 
Let go the hand of that arch-heretic ; 
And raise the power of France upon his head, 
Unless he do submit himself to Rome. 

Eli. Look'st thou pale, France ? do not let go thy hand. 

Aust. King PhiHp, listen to the cardinal. 

K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal ? 

Const. What should he say, but as the cardinal ? 

K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my person yours, 
And tell me, how you would bestow yourself. 
This royal hand and mine are newly knit : 
And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood, 
So newly joined in love, so strong in both, 
Unyoke this seizure, and this kind regreet ? 
Play fast and loose with faith ? so jest v/ith heaven, 
Make such unconstant children of ourselves. 
As now again to snatch our palm from palm ; 
Unswear faith sworn ; and on the marriage bed 
Of smiling peace to march a bloody host, 
And make a riot on the gentle brow 
Of true sincerity ? O holy sir, 
My reverend father, let it not be so : 
Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose 
Some gentle order ; and theii we shall be bless'd 
To do your pleasure, and continue friendsc 

Pand. All form is formless, order orderless, 
Save what is opposite to England's love. 



KING JOHN. 391 

Therefore, to arms, be champion of our church ! 

Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse, 

A mother's curse, on her revolting son. "^ 

France, thou may'st hold a serpent by the tongue, 

A cased lion by the mortal paw, 

A fasting tiger safer by the tooth. 

Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold. 

K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith. - 

Pand. So makest thou faith an enemy to faith ; ^ 

And, like a civil war, set'st oath to oath. 
Thy tongue against thy tongue. O let thy vow 
First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd ; 
That is, to be the champion of our church ! 
But, if not, then know. 
The peril of our curses light on thee ; 
So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off, 
But, in despair, die under their black weight. 

Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion ! 

Faul Will 't not be ? 

Will not a calf 's-skin stop that mouth of thine ? 

Lew. Father, to arms ! 

Blanch. Upon thy wedding day ? 

Against the blood that thou hast married ? 

husband, hear me ! — even for that name, 
Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce, 
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms 

Against mine uncle. 

Const. O, upon my knee. 

Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee. 
Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom 
Fore-thought by heaven. 

Blanch. Now shall I see thy love ; What motive may 
Be stronger with thee than the name of wife ? 

Const. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds, 
His honor : O, thine honor, Lewis, thine honor ! 

Leiv. I muse, your majesty doth seem so cold, 
When such profound respects do pull you on. 

Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head. 

K. Phi. Thou shalt not need : England, I'll fall from thee. 

Const. O fair return of banish'd majesty ! 

Eli. O foul revolt of French inconstancy ! 

K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour. 

Blanch. The sun's o'ercast with blood : Fair day, adieu ? 
Which is the side that I must go withal ? 

1 am with both : each army hath a hand ; 
And, in their rage, I having hold of both, 
They whirl asunder, and dismember me. 
Husband, I cannot pray that thou may'st win ; 
Uncle, I needs must pray that thou may'st lose. 



392 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Father. I may not wish the fortune thine ; 
Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive. 
Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose ; 
Assured loss, before the match be play'd. 

Lew. Lady, with me ; with me thy fortune lies. 

Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there my hfe dies. 

K. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance together. — 

[Exit Faul. 
France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath ; 
A rage, whose heat hath this condition. 
That nothing can allay, nothing but blood. 
The blood, and dearest valu'd blood, of France. 

K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt turn 
To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire : 
Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. 

K. John. No more than he that threats. — ^To arms let's hie ! 

[Exeunt. 

A battle ensues between the French and EngHsh forces, and Arthur is taken prisoner 
by King John. 

SCENE. — Plains near Anglers. 

Alarums; Excursions ; Retreat. Enter King John, Elinor, Ar- 
thur, Faulconb RIDGE, HuBERT, and Lords. 

K. John. So shall it be ; your grace shall stay behind, 

[ To Elinor. 
So strongly guarded. — Cousin, look not sad : [To Arthur. 

Thy grandam loves thee ; and thy uncle will 
As dear be to thee as thy father was. 

Arth. O, this will make my mother die with grief. 

K. John. Cousin, — [to Faulconbridge.] — away for England ■ 
haste before : 
And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags 
Of hoarding abbots ; imprison'd angels 
Set thou at liberty : the fat ribs of peace 
Must by the hungry now be fed upon : 
Use our commission in its utmost force. 

Faul. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back, 
When gold and silver becks me to come on. 
I leave your highness : — Grandam, I will pray 
(If ever I remember to be holy,) 
For your fair safety ; so I kiss your hand. 

Eli. Farewell, my gentle cousin. 

K. John. Coz, farewell. [Exit Faulconbridge. 

Eli. Come hither, little kinsman ; hark, a word. 

[She tahes Arthur aside. 

K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, 
We owe thee much ; within this \\d\\ of flesh 
There is a soul, counts thee her creditor. 



KING JOHN. 393 

And with advantage means to pay thy love : 
And, my good friend, thy voluntan^ oath 
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. 
Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say, — 
But I will tit it with some better time. 
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd 
To say what good respect I have of thee. 

Huh. I am much bounden to your majesty. 

K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet : 
But thou shalt have : and creep time ne'er so slow, 
Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. 
I had a thing to say, — But let it go : 
The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day. 
Attended with the pleasures of the world. 
Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds, 
To give me audience : — If the midnight bell 
Did with his iron tono-ue and brazen mouth, 
Sound one imto the drowsy race of night ; 
If this same were a church-yard where we stand. 
And thou possessed with a tliousand wrongs ; 
Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, 
Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick ; 
(Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins, 
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes, 
And sfrain their cheeks to idle merriment, 
A passion hateful to my purposes ;) 
Or if that thou could'st see me without eyes, 
Hear me without thine ears, and m.ake reply 
Without a tongue, using conceit alone, 
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words ; 
Then, in despite of brooded, watchful day, 
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts : 
But ah, I will not : — Yet I love thee well ; 
And, by my troth, I think, thou lov'st me well. 

Hub. So well, tliat what you bid me undertake. 
Though that my death were adjunct to my act, 
By heaven, Td do't. 

K. John, Do not I know, thou would'st ? 

Good Hubert, Hubert. Hubert, throw thine eye 
On yon young boy ; Til tell thee what, my friend. 
He is a very serpent in my way : 
And. wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread. 
He lies before me : Dost tliou understand me ? 
Thou art his keeper. 

Huh. And I will keep him so. 

That he shall not offend your majesty. 

K. John. Death. 

Huh. My lord ? 

K. John. A grave. 



394 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Huh. He shall not live. 

K. John, Enough. 

I could be merry now : Hubert, I love thee. 
Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee : 

Remember. Madam, fare you well : 

ril send those powers o'er to your majesty. 

Eli. My blessing go with thee ! 

K, John. For England, cousin, go : 

Hubert shall be your man, attend on you 
With all true duty. — On toward Calais, ho ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE.— 77ie French King's Tent. 
Enter King Philip, Lev/is, Pandulph, and, Attendants. 

K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, 
A whole armado of convicted sail 
Is scatter'J and disjoin'd from fellowship. 

Pand. Courage and comfort ! all shall yet go well. 

K. Phi. What can go well, when we have run so ill ? 
Are, we not beaten ? Is not Anglers lost ? 
Arthur ta'en prisoner ? divers dear friends slain : 
And bloody England into England gone, 
O'erbearing interruption, spite of France ? 

Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified : 
So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd. 
Such temperate order in so fierce a cause, 
Doth want example : Who hath read, or heard, 
Of any kindred action like to this ? 

K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this praise, 
Bo we could find some pattern of our shame. 

Enter Constance. 

Look, who comes here ! a grave unto a soul ; 
Holding the eternal spirit, against her will. 
In the vile prison of afflicted breath : — 
I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. 

Const. Lo, now ! now see the issue of your peace ! 

K. Phi. Patience, good lady ! comfort, gentle Constance ! 

Const. No, I defy all counsel,' all redress. 
But that which ends all counsel, true redress, 
Death, death : — O amiable, lovely death ! 
Arise forth from the couch of lasting night, 
Thou hate and terror to prosperity, 
And I will kiss thy detestable bones ; 
Come, grin on me ; and I will think thou smil'st. 
And buss thee as thy wife ! Misery's love, 
O, come to me ! 

K. Phi. O fair afliiction, peace. 

Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry : — 



KING JOHN. 395 

O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth ! 
Then with a passion would I shake the world ; 
And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, 
Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, 
Which scorns a modern invocation. 

Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow. 

Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so ; 
I am not mad : this hair I tear is mine ; 
My name is Constance ; I was Geffrey's wife ; 
Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost : 
I am not mad ; — T would to heaven I were ! 
For then, 'tis like I should forget myself: 
O, if I could, what grief should I forget ! — 
Preach some philosophy to make me mad, 
And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal ; 
For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, 
My reasonable part produces reason 
How I may be deliver'd of these woes. 
And teaches me to kill or hang myself: 
If I were mad, I should forget my son ; 
I am not mad ; too well, too well I feel 
The different plague of each calamity. 

K. Phi. Bind up those tresses : 
Sticking together in calamity. 

Const. To England, if you will. 

X". PM. Bind up your hairs. 

Const. Yes, that I will ; And wherefore will I do it ? 
I tore them from their bonds ; and cried aloud, 

that these hands could so redeem my son, 
As they have given these hairs their liberty ! 
But now I envy at their Hberty, 

And will again commit them to their bonds, 

Because my poor child is a prisoner. 

And, father cardinal, I have heard you say. 

That we shall see and know our friends in heaven : 

If that be true, I shall see my boy again ; 

For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child, 

To him that did but yesterday suspire. 

There was not such a gracious creature born. 

But now will canker sorrow eat my bud. 

And chase the native beauty from his cheek, 

And he will look as hollow as a ghost ; 

As dim and meagre as an ague's fit ; 

And so he'll die ; and, rising so again, 

When I shall meet him in the court of heaven 

1 shall not know him : therefore never, never 
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more. 

Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. 
Const. He talks to me, that never had a son. 



396 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

K. Pin, You are as fond of grief, as of your child. 

Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, * 

Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ; 
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, 
Remembers me of all his gracious parts. 
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; 
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief. 
Fare you well : had you such a loss as I, 

1 could give better comfort than you do. 

I will not keep this form upon my head, 

[ Tearing off her head-dress. 
When there is such disorder in my wit. 
O lord ! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son ! 
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world ! 
My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure ! [Exit. 

K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. [Exit. 



ACT IV. 

Arthur is conveyed to England, where he is imprisoned in Northamj)ton Castle. 
Hubert is appointed his keeper, with instructions from King John to tind some means, 
secretly, to deprive the young Prince of his life. 

SCENE I. — Northampton. A Room in the Castle. 
Enter Hubert, and Two Attendants. 

Huh. Heat me these irons hot ; and, look thou stand 
Within the arras : when I strike my foot 
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth : 
And bind the boy, which you shall find with me. 
Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. 

\st Attend. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. 

Huh. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : Look to't. 

[Exeunt Attendants. 
Young lad, come forth ; 1 have to say with you. 

Enter Arthur. 

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. 

Hub. Good morrow, little prince. 

Arth. As little prince (having so great a title 
To be more prince) as may be. You are sad. 

Huh. Indeed, I have been merrier. 

Arth. Mercy on me I 

Methinks, nobody should be sad but I : 
Yet, I remember, when I was in France, 
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, 
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, 
So 1 were out of prison, and kept sheep. 



KiyG joh:^. 397 

I should be as mem^ as the day is long ; 

And so I would be here, but that I doubt 

My uncle practises more harm to me : 

He is afraid of me. and I of him : 

Is it my fault that I was GeSrey's son ? 

No, indeed, is't not ; x\nd, I would to heaven, 

I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 

Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate 
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : 
Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch. [Aside, 

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert ? you look pale to-day : 
In sooth, I would you were a little sick ; 
That I might sit all night, and watch with you : 
I warrant. I love you more than you do me. 

Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom. — Read here, 
young Arthur. — [Showing a paper,'] — How now, foolish rheum ! 

[Aside, 
Turning dispiteous torture out of door ! 
I must be brief ; lest resolution drop 

Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. 

Can you not read it ? is it not fair writ ? 

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : 
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ? 

Hub. Young boy, I must. 

Arth. And will you ? 

Hub. ' And I will. 

Arth. Have you the heart ? \Mien your head did but ache, 
I knit my handkerchief about your brows, 
(The best I had, a princess wrought it for me.) 
And I did never ask it you again : 
And with my hand at midnight held your head ; 
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, 
Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time ; 
Saying. \Miat lack you ? and, \Maere lies your grief? 
Or, what good love may T perform for you *? 
Many a poor man's son would have lain still, 
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 
But you at your sick service had a prince. 
Nay, you may think, my love was craft}^ love, 
And call it cunning ; Do, an if you ^^ill : 
If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill, 
Why, then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes ? 
These eyes, that never did, nor never shall, 
So much as frown on you ? 

Hub. I have sworn to do it ; 

And \vith hot irons must I burn them out. 

Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it ! 
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot. 
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears. 



398 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

And quench his fiery indignation, 

Even in the matter of mine innocence : 

Nay, after that, consume away in rust, 

But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 

Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron ? 

An if an angel should have come to me, 

And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, 

I would not have believ'd no tongue, but Hubert's. 

Huh, Come forth. [Stamps. 

Re-enter Attendants, with cords, irons, <^c. 

Do as I bid you do. 

Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes are out. 
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 

Huh. Give me the iron, T say, and bind him here. 

Arth. Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough ? 
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ! 
Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away, 
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ; 
1 will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a w^ord, 
Nor look upon the iron angerly : 
Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, 
Whatever torment you do put me to. 

Huh. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him. 

Is^ Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed. 

[Exeunt Attendants. 

Ainh. Alas ! I then have chid aw^ay my friend ; 
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart : — 
Let him come back, that his compassion may 
Give life to yours. 

Huh. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 

Arth. Is there no remedy ? 

Hub, None, but to lose your eyes. 

Arth. O heaven ! — that there w^ere but a mote in yours, 
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair. 
Any annoyance in that precious sense I 
Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there, 
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 

Huh. Is this your promise ? go to, hold your tongue. 

Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : 
Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert ! 
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue. 
So I may keep mine eyes ; O, spare mine eyes ; 
Though to no use, but still to look on you ! 
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold. 
And Vv'ould not harm me. 

Huh. I can heat it, boy. 



KING JOHN. 399 

Arth. Xo, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with grief, 
Being create for comfort, to be iis'd 
In undeserv'd extremes : See else yourself; 
There is no malice in this burning coal ; 
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out. 
And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. 

Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 

Arth. And if you do. you will but make it blush, 
And glow with shame of your proceedinofs, Hubert : 
Nay. it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ; 
And, like a dog that is compell'd to tight. 
Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. 
All things, that you should use to do me wrong, 
Deny tiieir ofSce : only you do lack 
That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron extends. 
Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. 

Hub. Well, see to live, I will not touch thine eyes, 
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : 
Yet T am sworn, and I did purpose, boy. 
With this same very iron to burn them out. 

Arth. O, now you look like Hubert I 
You were disguised. 

Hub. Peace : no more. Adieu. 

Your uncle must not know but you are dead : 
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. 
And. pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, 
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world. 
Will not offend thee. 

Arth. O heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert. 

Hub. Silence ; no more : Go closely in with me. 
Much danger do I undergo for tliee. [Sxeunt, 

King John is crowned the second time, in hopes to give assurance, by this double 
coronation, of his title to the English crown. The Nobles and People are disaffected, 
and Philip breaks the league, and prepares to invade England. John, alarmed at his 
position, repents of his conduct towards young Arthur, and accuses his confidant, Hubert, 
with tempting him to accede to the murder. 

SCENE II.— A Roatn of State in the Palace, 

Enter Kesg John, crowned; Pembroke, Salisbury, and other hords. 
The King takes his State. 

K. John. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd, 
And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. 

Pern. This once again, but that your highness pleas'd, 
Was once superfluous : you were crown'd before, 
And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off; 
The faiths of men ne'er stained \\-ith revolt ; 
Fresh expectation troubled not the land, 



400 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

With any long'd-for change, or better state. 

Sal Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, 
To guard a title that was rich before, 
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, 
To throw a perfume on the violet, 
To smooth the ice, or add another hue 
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light 
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish. 
Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess. 

Pern. But that your royal pleasure must be done, 
This act is as an ancient tale new told ; 
And, in the last repeating, troublesome, 
Being urged at a time unseasonable. 

Sal. In this, the antique and well-noted fece 
Of plain old form is much disfigured ; 
And, like a shifted wind unto a sail. 
It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about ; 
Startles and frights consideration ; 
Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected. 
For putting on so new a fashion'd robe. 

Pem. When workmen strive to do better than welJ, 
They do confound their skill in covetousness : 
And, oftentimes, excusing of a fault. 
Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse ; 
As patches, set upon a little breach. 
Discredit more in hiding of the fault, 
Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. 

Sal. To this effect, before you were new-crown'd, 
We breath'd our counsel : but it pleas'd your highness 
To overbear it ; and we are all well pleas'd ; 
Since all and every part of what we would, 
Doth make a stand at v/hat your highness will. 

K.John. Some reasons of this double coronation 
I have possess'd you with, and think them strong ; 
And more, more strong, (when lesser is m.y fear.) 
I shall indue you with : Meantime, but ask 
What you would have reform'd, that is not well ; 
And well shall you perceive, how willingly 
I will both hear and grant you your requests. 

Pem. Then I, (as one that am the tongue of these 
To sound the purposes of all their hearts,) 
Both for myself and them, (but, chief of all. 
Your safety, for the which myself and them 
Bend their best studies.) heartily request 
The enfranchisement of Arthur : whose restraint 
Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent. 
To break into this dangerous argument, — 
If, what in rest you have, in right you hold. 
Why then your fears, (which, as they say, attend 



KING JOHN. 401 

The steps of wrong.) should move you to mew up 
Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days 
With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth 
The rich advantage of good exercise ? 
That the time's enemies may not have this 
To grace occasions, let it be our suit, 
That you have bid us ask his Hberty ; 
Which for our goods we do no further ask, 
That whereupon our weal, on you depending. 
Counts it your weal, he have his liberty. 

K.Jolin. Let it be so ; I do commit this youth 

Enter Hubert. 

To your direction. — Hubert, what news ^^^th you ? 

Pern. This is the man should do the bloody deed. 
He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine : 
The image of a wicked heinous fault 
Lives in his eye ; that close aspect of his 
Does show the mood of a much-troubled breast ; 
And I do fearfully believe, 'tis done. 
What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. 

Sal. The color of the king doth come and go, 
Between his purpose and his conscience. 
Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set : 
His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. 

Pern. x\nd, when it breaks, I fear, will issue thence 
The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. 

K. Johji. We cannot hold mortality's strong hand: — 
Great lords, although my will to give is living. 
The suit which you demand is gone and dead : 
He tells us, Arthur is deceas'd to-night. 

Sal. Indeed, we fear'd his sickness was past cure. 

Pe?n. Lideed, we heard how near his death he was, 
Before the child himself felt he was sick : 
This must be answer'd, either here, or hence. 

K. Jolin. Why do you bend such solemn brows on me ? 
Think you, I bear the shears of destiny ? 
Have I commandment on the pulse of hfe ? 

Sal. It is apparent foul-play ; and 'tis shame. 
That greatness should so grossly offer it : 
So thrive it in your game ! and so farewell. 

Pern. Stay yet, lord SaHsbur}^ ; I'll go with thee, 
And find the inheritance of tliis poor child, 
His little kingdom of a forced grave. 
That blood, which ow'd the breadth of all this isle, 
Three foot of it doth hold : Bad world the while ! 
This must not be thus borne : tliis will break out 
To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt. [Exeunt Lords. 

K. John. They burn in indignation ; I repent ; 



402 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

There is no sure foundation set on blood ; 
No certain life achiev'd by others' death. 

Enter a Messenger. 

A fearM eye thou hast ; Where is that blood, 

That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks ? 

So foul a sky clears not without a storm : 

Pour down thy weather : — How goes all in France ? 

Mess. From France to England. — Never such a power 
For any foreign preparation, 
Was levied in the body of a land ! 
The copy of your speed is learned by them ; 
For, when you should be told they do prepare. 
The tidings come, that they are all arriv'd. 

K. John. O, where hath our intelHgence been drunk ? 
Where hath it slept ! Where is my mother's care ? 
That such an army could be drawn in France, 
And she not hear of it ? 

Mess. My liege, her ear 

Is stopp'd with dust ; the first of April, died 
Your noble mother : And, as I hear, my lord, 
The lady Constance in a frenzy died 
Three days before : but this from rumor's tongue 
I idly heard ; If true, or false, I know not. 

K. Jolin. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion ! 
O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd 
My discontented peers ! — my mother dead ? 

Huh. My lord, they say, five moons were seen to-night: 
Four fixed ; and the fifth did whirl about 
The other four, in wondrous motion. 

K. John. Five moons ? 

Hub. Old men, and beldams, in the streets, 

Do prophesy upon it dangerously ; 
Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths : 
And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, 
And whisper one another in the ear ; 
And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist ; 
Whilst he, that hears, makes fearful action, 
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. 
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, 
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool. 
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news ; 
Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, 
Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste 
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) 
Told of a many thousand warlike French, 
That were embattailled and rank'd in Kent : 
Another lean unwash'd artificer 
Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. 



KING JOHN. 403 

K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these fears ? 
Why urg-est thou so oft young Arthur's death ? 
Thy hand hath murder'd him : I had mighty cause 
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. 

Hub. Had none, my lord ! why, did you not provoke me ? 

K. John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended 
By slaves, that take their humors for a warrant 
To break withJn the bloody house of life ; 
And, on the winking of authority, 
To understand a law ; to know the meaning 
Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowTis 
More upon humor than ad^is'd respect. 

Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. 

K. John. O, v/hen the last account 'twixt heaven and earth 
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
Witness against us to damnation ! 
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds. 
Makes deeds ill done I Hadst not thou been by, 
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, 
Quoted, and sign'd to do a deed of shame, 
This murder had not come into my mind : * 

But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect, 
Finding thee fit for bloody villa ny, 
Apt, liable, to be employ 'd in danger, 
I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death ; 
And thou, to be endeared to a king, 
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. 

Hub. My lord, 

K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause, 
When I spake darkly what I purposed ; 
Or turned an eye of doubt upon my face, 
And bid me tell my tale in express words : 
Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off, 
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me : 
But thou didst understand me by my signs, 
And didst in signs again parley with sin ; 
Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, 
And consequently, thy rude hand to act 
The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name. — 
Out of my sight, and never see me more ! 
My nobles leave me ; and my state is brav'd, 
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers : 
Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, 
This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, 
Hostility and civic tumult reigns 
Between my conscience, and my cousin's death. 

Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, 
ril make a peace betwixt your soul and you. 
Younof Arthur is alive : This hand of mine. 



404 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, 

Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. 

Within this bosom never enter'd yet 

The dreadful notion of a murd'rous thought, 

And you have slander'd nature in my form : 

Which howsoever rude exteriorly. 

Is yet the cover of a fairer mind 

Than to be butcher of an innocent child. 

K. John. Doth Arthur live ? O, haste thee to the peers, 
Throw this report on their incensed rage, 
And make them tame to their obedience ! 
Forgive the comment that my passion made 
Upon thy feature ; for my rage was blind. 
And foul imaginary eyes of blood 
Presented thee more hideous than thou art. 
O, answer not ; but to my closet bring 
The angry lords, with all expedient haste : 
I cCnjure thee but slowly ; run more fast. [ExeunU 

SCENE 111.— The same. Before the Castle. 

Enter Arthur on the walls, 

Arth. The wall is high ; and yet will I leap down : — 
Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not ! — 
There's few, or none, do know me ; if they did. 
This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite. 
I am afraid ; and yet I'll venture it. 
If I get dowm, and do not break my limbs, 
I'll find a thousand shifts to get away : 

As good to die, and go, as die, and stay. [Leaps down. 

O me ! my uncle's spirit is in these stones : — 
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones ! [Dies, 

Enter Pembroke, Salisbury and Bioot. 

Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmund's Bury : 
It is our safety, and w^e must embrace 
This gentle offer of the perilous time. 

Pern. Who brought that letter from the cardinal ? 

Sal. The count Slelun, a noble lord of France ; 
Whose private with me, of the dauphin's love, 
Is much more general than these lines import. 

Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. 

Sal. Or rather then set forv/ard : for 'twill be 
Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet. 

Enter Faulconbridge. 

Faul. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords ! 
The king by me, requests your presence straight. 



KING JOHN. ' 405 

Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us ; 
We will not line his thin bestained cloak 
With our pure honors, nor attend the foot 
That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks : 
Return, and tell him so ; we know the worst 

Faul. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best. 

Sal, Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. 

Faul. But there is little reason in your grief; 
Therefore, 'twere reason, you had manners now. 

Pe??i. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. 

Faul. 'Tis true ; to hurt his master, no man else. 

Sal. This is the prison : What is he lies here ? 

[Seeing Arthur. 

Pern. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty ! 
The earth had not a hole to hide this deed. 

Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, 
Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge. 

Big. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave, 
Found it too precious-princely for a grave. 

Sal. Sir Richard, what think you ? Have you beheld, 
Or have you read, or heard ? or could you think, 
Or do you almost think, although you see. 
That you do see ? could thought, without this object, 
Form such another ? this is the very top. 
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest, 
Of murder's arms : this is the bloodiest shame, 
The wildest savag'ry, the vilest stroke, 
That ever wall-eye'd wrath, or staring rage, 
Presented to the tears of soft remorse. 

Pern. All murders past do stand excus'd in this : 
And this so sole, and so unmatchable, 
Shall give a holiness, a purity. 
To the yet-unbegotten sin of times ; 
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, 
Exampled by this heinous spectacle. 

Faul. It is a cursed and a bloody work ; 
The graceless action of a heavy hand, 
If that it be the work of any hand. 

Sal. If that it be the work of any hand ? — 
We had a kind of light, what would ensue : 
It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand : 
The practice, and the purpose, of the king : — 
From whose obedience I forbid my soul, 
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life. 
And breathing to his breathless excellence 
The incense of a vow, a holy vow. 
Never to taste the pleasures of the world. 
Never to be infected with delight, 
Nor conversant with ease and idleness, 



406 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Till I have set a glory to this hand, 
By giving it the worship of revenge. 

Pern. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy words. 

Enter Hubert. 

Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you : 
Arthur doth live ; the king hath sent for you. 

Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death : — 
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone ! 

Hub. I am no villain. 

Sal Must I rob the law ? [Drawing his sword, 

Faul. Your sword is bright, sir ; put it up again. 

Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back, I say ; 
By heaven, I think, my sword's as sharp as yours : 
I would not have you, lord, forget yourself, 
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence ; 
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget 
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility. 

Big. Out, dunghill ! dar'st thou brave a nobleman ? 

Hub. Not for my life ; but yet I dare defend 
My innocent life against an emperor. 

Sal. Thou art a murderer. 

Hub. Do not prove me so ; 

Yet, I am none : Whose tongue soe'er speaks false, 
Not truly speaks ; who speaks not truly, lies. 

Pern. Cut him to pieces. 

Faul. Keep the peace, I say. 

Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. 

Faul. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury : 
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot. 
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, 
I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime. 

Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge ? 
Second a villain and a murderer ? 

Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. 

Big. Who kill'd this prince ? 

Hub. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well : 
I honor'd him, I lov'd him ; and will weep 
My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss. 

Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes, 
For villany is not without such rheum ; 
And he long traded in it, makes it seem 
Like rivers of remorse and innocency. 
Away, with me, all you whose souls abhor 
The uncleanly savors of a slaughter-house ; 
For I am stifled w4th the smell of sin. 

Big. Away, toward Bury, to the dauphin there ! 

Pern. There, tell the king, he may inquire us out. 

[Exeunt Lords. 



KING JOHN. 407 

Faul. Here's a good world I — Knew you of this fair work ? 
Beyond the infinite and boundless reach 
Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death, 
Art thou damn'd, Hubert. 

Huh, Do but hear me. sir. 

Faul Ha ♦ I'll tell thee what ; 
Thou art stained as black — nay, nothing is so black 
As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child. 

Huh. Upon my soul, 

Faul. If thou didst but consent 

To this m.ost cruel act, do but despair. 
And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread 
That ever spider twisted. 
Will serve to strangle thee ; a rush will be 
A beam to hang thee on ; or would'st thou drown thyself, 
Put but a Httle water in a spoon. 
And it shall be as all the ocean, 

Enough to stifle such a villain up. 

I do suspect thee very grievously. 

Huh. I left him well. 

Faul. Go, bear him in thine arms. — 

I am amaz'd, methinks ; and lose my way 
Among the thorns and dangers of tliis world. — 
How easy dost thou take all England up I 
From forth this morsel of dead royalty, 

The life, the right, and truth of all this realm "^ 

Is fled to heaven : and England now is left 
To tug and scramble, and to part by the teeth 
The unowed interest of proud-swelling state. 
Now, for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty, 
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest, 
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace : 
Now powers from home, and discontents at home, 
Meet in one line ; and vast confusion waits 
(As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast) 
The eminent decay of wrested pomp. 
Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can 
Hold out this tempest. — Bear away that child, 
And follow^ me with speed ; Til to the king : 
A thousand businesses are brief in hand, 
And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. [^Exeunt, 

ACT V. 

SCENE I.— T/ie same. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter King John, Paxdulph icith the crown, and Attendants. 
K. Jolin. Thus have I yielded up into your hand 
The circle of my glory. 



408 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Pand. Take again [Giving John the crown. 

From this my hand, as holding of the pope, 
Your sovereign greatness and authority. 

K. John. Now keep your holy word : go meet the French ; 
And from his holiness use all your power 
To stop their marches, 'fore we are inflam'd. 
Our discontented counties do revolt ; 
Our people quarrel with obedience ; 
Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul, 
To stranger blood, to foreign royalty. 
This inundation of mistemper'd humor 
Rests by you only to be qualified. 
Then pause not ; for the present time's so sick, 
That present medicine must be minister'd, 
Or overthrow incurable ensues. 

Pand. It was my breath that blew this tempest up, 
Upon your stubborn usage of the pope ; 
But, since you are a gentle convertite. 
My tongue shall hush again this storm of war, 
And make fair weather in your blustering land. 
On this Ascension-day, remember well. 
Upon your oath of service to the pope, 
Go I to make the French lay down their arms. [Exit 

K. John. Is this Ascension-day ? Did not the prophet 
Say, that, before Ascension-day at noon, 
My crown I should give off? Even so I have : 
t did suppose, it should be on constraint ; 
But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary. 

Enter Faulconbridge. 

Faul. All Kent hath yielded ; nothing there holds out, 
But Dover castle : London hath receiv'd. 
Like a kind host, the dauphin and his powers : 
Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone 
To offer service to your enemy ; 
And wild amazement hurries up and down 
The little number of your doubtful friends. 

K. John. Would not my lords return to me again, 
After they heard young Arthur was alive ? 

Faul. They found him dead, and cast into the streets ; 
An empty casket, where the jewel of life 
By some vile hand was robb'd and ta'en away. 

K. John. That villain Hubert told me he did live. 

Faul. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew. 
But wherefore do you droop ? why look you sad ? 
Be great in act, as you have been in thought ; 
Let not the world see fear, and sad distrust, 
Govern the motion of a kingly eye : 
Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire : 



KING JOHN. 409 

Threaten the threat 'ner, and outface the brow 

Of bragging horror : so shall inferior eyes, 

That borrow their behaviors from the great, 

Grow great by your example, and put on 

The dauntless spirit of resolution. 

Away ; and glister like the god of war, 

When he intendeth to become the field : 

Show boldness and aspiring confidence. 

What, shall they seek the lion in his den. 

And fright him there ? and make him tremble there ? 

O, let it not be said ! — Forage, and run 

To meet displeasure further from the doors ; 

And grapple with him, ere he comes so nigh. 

K. John. The legate of the pope hath been with me, 
And I have made a happy peace with him ; 
And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers 
Led by the dauphin. 

Faul. O inglorious league ! 

Shall we, upon the footing of our land. 
Send fair-play orders, and make compromise, 
Insinuation, parley, and base truce. 
To arms invasive ? shall a beardless boy, 

A silken wanton brave our fields, I 

And flesh his spirit in a w^arhke soil, 
Mocking the air with colors idly spread, 
And find no check ? Let us, my liege, to arms : 
Perchance, the cardinal cannot make your peace ; 
Or if he do, let it at least be said, 
They saw we had a purpose of defence. 

K. John. Have thou the ordering of this present time. 

Faul. Away then, with good courage ; yet, I know. 
Our party may well meet a prouder foe. [Exeunt. 

The Dauphin, aided by the disaffected Nobles of England, gives battle to John at 
St. Edmund's Bury ; the King's troops are repulsed, and John is conveyed to Swinstead 
Abbey, sick of a fever. 

SCENE. — An open Place in the neighborhood of Swinstead- Abbey. 
Enter Faulconbridge and Hubert, meeting. 

Huh. Who's there ? speak, ho ! speak quickly, or I shoot. 
Faul. A friend. — What art thou ? 

Hub. Of the part of England, 

Faul. Whither dost thou go ? 

Hub. What's that to thee ? Why may I not demand 
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine ? 
Faul. Hubert, I think. 

Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought : 

19 



410 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

will, upon all hazards, well believe 
Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well : 
Who art thou ? 

Faul. Who thou wilt : an if thou please, 

Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to think 
I come one way of the Plantagenets. 

Huh, Unkind remembrance ! thou, and eyeless night, 
Have done me shame : — Brave soldier, pardon me, 
That any accent, breaking from thy tongue, 
Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. 

Faul. Come, come ; sans compliment, what news abroad ? 

Huh. Why, here walk I, in the black brov/ of night, 
To find you out. 

Faul. Brief, then ; and what's the news ? 

Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, 
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. 

Faul. Show me the very wound of this ill news ; 
I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it. 

Huh. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk : , 

I left him almost speechless, and broke out 
To acquaint you with this evil ; that you might 
The better arm you to the sudden time. 
Than if you had at leisure known of this. 

Faul. How did he take it ? who did taste to him ? 

Huh. A monk, I tell you ; a resolved villain. 
The king yet speaks, and peradventure may recover. 

Faul. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty ? 

Huh. Why, know you not ? the lords are all come back, 
And brought prince Henry in their company ; 
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them, 
And they are all about his majesty. 

Faul. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven, 
And tempt us not to bear above our power !— 
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night 
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide, 
These Lincoln washes have devoured them ; 
Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd. 
Away, before ! conduct me to the king ; 
I doubt, he will be dead, or ere I come. [ Exeunt, 

SCENE.— TTie Orchard o/ Swinstead- Abbey. 

Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot. 

P. Hen. It is too late ; the life of all his blood 
Is touch'd corruptibly ; and his pure brain 
(Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,) 
Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, 
Foretell the ending of mortality. 



KING JOHN. 411 

Enter Pembroke. 

Pern, His highness yet doth speak ; and holds belief. 
That, being brought into the open air, 
It would allay the burning quality 
Of that fell poison which assaileth him. 

P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here. — 
Doth he still rage ? [Exit Bigot. 

Pern. He is more patient 

Than when you left him ; even now he sung. 

P. Hen. O vanity of sickness ! fierce extremes, 
In their continuance, will not feel themselves. 
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, 
Leaves them insensible ; and his siege is now 
Against the mind, the which he goads and wounds 
With many legions of strange fantasies ; 
Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, 
Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that death should sing. 
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan. 
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death ; 
And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings 
His soul and body to their lasting rest. 

Sal. Be of good comfort, prince ; for you are born 
To set a form upon that indigest. 
Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. 

Re-enter Bigot and Attendants, wlio bring in King John, in ' 
a chair. 

K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room ; 
It would not out at windows, nor at doors. 
There is so hot a summer in my bosom. 
That all my bowels crumble up to dust : 
I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen 
Upon a parchment ; and against this fire 
Do I shrink up. 

P. Hen. How fares your majesty ? 

K. John. Poison'd, — ill fare ; — dead, forsook, cast off; 
And none of you will bid the winter come, 
To thrust his icy fingers in my maw ; 
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course 
Through my burn'd bosom ; nor entreat the north 
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips. 
And comfort me with cold : — I do not ask you much, 
I beg cold comfort ; and you are so strait. 
And so ingrateful, you deny me that. 

P. Hen. O, that there were some virtue in my tears, 
That might relieve you ! 

K. John. The salt in them is hot. — 

Within me is a hell ; and there the poison 



412 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize 
On unreprievable condemned blood. 

Enter Faulconbridge. 

Faid. O, I am scalded with my violent motion, 
And spleen of speed to see your majesty. 

K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye : 
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd ; 
And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail, 
Are turned to one thread, one little hair : 
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, 
Which holds but till thy news be utter'd ; 
And then all this thou seest is but a clod, 
And module of confounded royalty. 

Faul. The dauphin is preparing hitherward ; 
Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him : 
For, in a night, the best part of my power, 
As I upon advantage did remove. 
Were in the washes, all unwarily 
Devour'd by the unexpected flood. [The King dies. 

Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear. 
My liege ! my lord ! — But now a king, — now thus. 

P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. 
What surety of the world, what hope, what stay. 
When this was now a king, and now is clay ! 

Faul. Art thou gone so ? I do but stay behind, 
To do the office for thee of revenge ; 
And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven. 

As it on earth hath been thy servant still. 

Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres, 

Where be your powers ? Show now your mended faiths ; 

And instantly return with me again, 

To push destruction, and perpetual shame. 

Out of the weak door of our fainting land : 

Straight let us seek, or straight we siiall be sought ; 

The dauphin rages at our very heels. 

Sal. It seems, you know not then so much as we : 
The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest. 
Who half an hour since came from the dauphin ; 
And brings from him such offers of our peace 
As we with honor and respect may take, 
With purpose presently to leave this war. 

Faul. He will the rather do it, when he sees 
Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. 

Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already ; 
For many carriages he hath despatch'd 
To the seaside, and put his cause and quarrel 
To the disposing of the cardinal. 
With whom yourself, myself, and other lords, 



KING JOHN. 413 

If you think meet, this afternoon will post 

To consummate this business happily. > 

FauL Let it be so : — And you, m.y noble prince, 
With other princes that may best be spar'd. 
Shall wait upon your father^s funeral. 

P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd ; 
For so he will'd it. <,, ' 

Faul. Thither shall it then. 

And happily may your sweet self put on 
The lineal state and glory of the land ! 
To whom, with all submission, on my knee, 
I do bequeath my faithful services 
And true subjection everlastingly. 

Sal. And the like tender of our love we make. 
To rest wdthout a spot for evermore. 

P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you thanks, 
And knows not how to do it, but with tears. 

Faul. O, let us pay the time but needful woe. 
Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. — 
This England never did, (nor never shall,) 
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, 
But when it first did help to wound itself. 
Now these her princes are come home again. 
Come the three corners of the world in arms, 
And we shall shock them : Nought shall make us rue, 
If England to itself do rest but true. \^Exeunt. 



KING HENEY IV 



The chronicles of HolHngshed and Stowe, appear to have been the sources fiv*. 
which Shakspeare drew the materials for constructing his series of English Historical 
Plays, adding, however, characters and incidents from his own leeming imagination, and 
heightening the real pereonages he introduces, with all the vivid touches of his excelling 
skill. 

In the first and second parts of Henry IV, appears that marvel of his creative genius, 
FalstafF,— who is aptly made the leader of the dissolute set of profligates which surrounded 
the young Prince, afterwards Henry V. An. isolated extract could not do justice to this 
inimitable creation ; we have, therefore, preferred to confine our selections to the historical 
incidents of the Play. " The transactions contained in it are comprised within the period 
of about ten months. The action commences with the news brought of Hotspur having 
defeated the Scots under Archibald earl of Douglas, at Holmedon (or Halidowu-hill), 
which battle was fought on Holyroodday (the 14th of September), 1402 ; and it closes 
with the defeat and death of Hotspur at Shrewsbury ; which engagement happened on 
Saturday the 21st of July (the eve of Saint Mary Magdalen) , in the year 1403.' ' 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

King- Henry the Fourth. 

Henry, Prince of Wales, > u ^i rr- 

Prince John of Lancaster, 5 ''''' ^' *^' ^S' 

Earl of Westmorland, } r • j ^ ^i rr- 

Sir Waltek BLU.N-T, 5 -^"^'"^^ *" *^' ^'"g- 

Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester. 

Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland. 

Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his son. 

Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. 

Scroop, Archbishop of Yore. 

Sir Michael, a friend of the Archbishop. 

Archibald, Earl of Douglas. 

Owen Glendower. 

Sir Richard Vernon. 

Sir John Falstaff. 

POINS. 

Gadshill. 

Peto. 

Bardolph. 



KING HENRY IV. 415 

Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer. 

Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, and ivife to Mortimer. 

Mrs. QuiCBxy, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. 

Lords, Officers, Sheriffs Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, Two Carriers, 
Travellers, and Attendants. 

SCENE,— England. 



ACT I. 

King Henry sends for Hotspur, to give an account of his conduct at the Battle of 
Holmedon. 

SCENE. — London, a Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Henry, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir 
Walter Blunt, and others. 

K, Hen. My blood hath been too cold and temperate. 
Unapt to stir at these indignities, 
And you have found me ; for, accordingly, 
You tread upon my patience ; but, be sure, 
I will from henceforth rather be myself. 
Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition ; 
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down, 
And therefore lost that title of respect. 
Which the proud soul ne'er pays, but to the proud. 

Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves 
The scourge of greatness to be used on it ; 
And that same greatness too which our own hands 
Have holp to make so portly. 

No7'th. My lord,— 

K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone, for I see danger 
And disobedience in thine eye : O, sir. 
Your presence is too bold and peremptory, 
And majesty might never yet endure 
The moody frontier of a servant brow. 
You have good leave to leave us ; when we need 
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. — 

[Exit Worcester. 
You were about to speak. [To North. 

North. Yea, my good lord. 

Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded, 
Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took. 
Were, as he says, not with such strength denied, 
As is deliver'd to your majesty : 
Either envy, therefore, or misprision 
Is guilty of this fault, and not my son. 

Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 



416 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

But, I remember, when the fight was done. 
When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, 
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword. 
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd, 
Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new reap'd, 
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home ; 
He was perfumed like a milliner ; 
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon 

He gave his nose, and took't away again ; 

Who, therewith angry, when it next came there, 

Took it in snufT : — and still he smil'd and talk'd ; 

And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies b}^. 

He call'd them — untaught knaves, unmannerly, 

To bring a slovenly, unhandsome corse 

Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 

With many holiday and lady term.s 

He question'd me ; among the rest, demanded 

My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. 

I then, all smarting with my w^ounds being cold, 

To be so pester'd with a popinjay, 

Out of my grief and my impatience, 

Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what ; 

He should, or he should not ; — for he made me mad, 

To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, 

And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, 

Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the mark !} 

And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth 

Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise ; 

And that it was great pity, so it was, 

That villanous saltpetre should be digg'd 

Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, 

Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd 

So cowardly ; and, but for these vile guns, 

He would himself have been a soldier. 

This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, 

I answer'd indirectly, as I said ; 

And, I beseech you, let not his report 

Come current for an accusation, 

Betwixt my love and your high majesty. 

Blunt. The circumstance consider'd, good my lord, 
Whatever Harry Percy then had said, 
To such a person, and in such a place. 
At such a time, with all the rest re-told. 
May reasonably die, and never ri^se 
To do him wrong, or any way impeach 
What then he said, so he unsay it now. 

K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners ; 
But with proviso, and exception, — 



KING HENRY IV. 417 

That we, at our own charge, shall ransom straight 
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer ; 
Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd 
The lives of those that he did lead to fight 
Against the great magician, curs'd Glendower ; 
Whose daughter, as we hear, the earl of March 
Hath lately married. Shall our coffers then 
Be emptied, to redeem a traitor home ? 
Shall we buy treason ? and indent with fears, 
When they have lost and forfeited themselves ? 
No, on the barren mountains let him starve ; 
For I shall never hold that man my friend. 
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost 
To ransom home revolted Mortimer. 

Hot. Revolted Mortimer ! 
He never did fall off. my sovereign liege^ 
But by the chance of vrar ; — To prove that true. 
Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds. 
Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took, 
When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank, 
In single opposition, hand to hand. 
He did confound the best part of an hour 
In changing hardiment with great Glendower : 
Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drink, 
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood ; 
Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, 
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds, 
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank 
Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. 
Never did bare and rotten policy 
Color her working with such deadly wounds ; 
Nor never could the noble Mortimer 
Receive so many, and all willingly : 
Then let him not be slander'd with revolt. 

K. Hen, Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him, 
He never did encounter with Glendower ; 
I tell thee, 

He durst as well have met the devil alone. 
As Owen Glendower for an enemy. 
Art not asham'd ? But, sirrah, henceforth 
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer ; 
Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, 
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me 
As will displease you. — My lord Northumberland, 
We license your departure with your son , — 
Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it. 

{^Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and Train. 

Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them, 
I will not send them : — I will after straight, 



.418 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

And tell him so ; for I will ease my heart, 
Although it be with hazard of my head. 

North. What, drunk with choler ? stay, and pause awhile ; 
Here comes your uncle. 

Re-enter Worcester. 

Hot, Speak of Mortimer ? 

'Zounds, I will speak of him ; and let my soul 
Want mercy, if 1 do not join with him : 
Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins, 
And shed my Wood drop by drop i' the dust, 
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer 
As high i' the air as this unthankful king, 
As this ingrate and canker 'd Bolingbroke. 

North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad. 

{To Worcester. 

Wor. Who struck this heat up, after I was gone '? 

Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners ; 
And when I urg'd the ransom once again 
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale ; 
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death, 
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. 

Wor. I cannot blame him : Was he not proclaim'd, 
By Richard that dead is, the next of blood ? 

North. He w^as ; I heard the proclamation : 
And then it was, when the unhappy king 
(Whose wrongs in us God pardon !) did set forth 
Upon his Irish expedition ; 
From whence he, intercepted, did return 
To be depos'd, and, shortly, murdered. 

Wor. And for whose death, we in the world's wide mouth 
Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of. 

Hot. But, soft, I pray you ; Did king Richard then 
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer 
Heir to the crown ? 

North. He did ; myself did hear it. 

Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king. 
That wish'd him on the barren mountains starv'd. 
But shall it be, that you, — that set the crown 
Upon the head of this forgetful man ; 
And, for his sake, wear the detested blot 
Of murd'rous subornation, — shall it be, 
That you a world of curses undergo ; 
Being the agents, or base second means, 
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather ?- 
O, pardon me, that I descend so lov/, 
To show the line, and the predicament. 
Wherein you range under this subtle king. — 
Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days, 



J 



KING HENRY IV. 4X9 

Or fill up chronicles in time to come, • 
That men of your nobihty and power. 
Did 'gage them both in an unjust behalf. — 
As both of you, God pardon it ! have done. — 
To pat down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, 
And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke ? 
And shall it, in more shame, be further spoken. 
That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off 
By him, for whom these shames ye underwent ? 
No ; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem 
Your banish'd honors, and restore yourselves 
Into the good thoughts of the world again : 
Revenge the jeering, and disdained contempt, 
Of this proud king ; who studies, day and night, 
To answer all the debt he owes to you, 
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths. 
Therefore, I say, 

Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more : 

And now I will unclasp a secret book, 
And to your quick-conceiving discontents 
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous ; 
As full of peril, and adventurous spirit. 
As to O'er- walk a current, roaring loud, 
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. 

Hot. If he fall in, good night ; — or sink or swim ;— 
Send danger from the east unto the west, 
So honor cross it from the north to south. 
And let them grapple ; — O I the blood more stirs, 
To rouse a lion than to start a hare. 

North. Imagination of some great exploit 
Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. 

Hot. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap, 
To pluck bright honor from the pale-fac'd moon ; 
Or dive into the bottom of the deep. 
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, 
And pluck up drowned honor by the locks : 
So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear. 
Without corrival, all her dignities : 
But out upon this half-fac*d fellowship ! 

Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here. 
But not the form of what he should attend. — 
Good cousin, give me audience for a while. 

Hot. I ciy you mercy. 

Wor. ' " Those same noble Scots, 
That are your prisoners, 

Hot. ' ril keep them all : 

By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them : 
I'll keep them, by this hand 

Wor. You start away. 



420 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

And lend no ear unto my purposes. — 
Those prisoners you shall keep. 

Hot. Nay, t will ; that's flat :— 

He said, he would not ransom Mortimer ; 
Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer ; 
But I will find him when he lies asleep. 
And in his ear I'll holla — Mortimer J 
Nay, 

I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak 
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him. 
To keep his anger still in motion. 

War. Hear you, 

Cousin ; a word. 

Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy, 
Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke ; 
And that same sword-and-buckler prince of Wales, 
But that I think his father loves him not. 
And would be glad he met with some mischance, 
I'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale. 

Wor. Farewell, kinsman ! I will talk to you, 
When you are better temper'd to attend. 

North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool 
Art thou, to break into this woman's mood ; 
Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own ? 

Hot. Why, look you, I am w^hipp'd and scourg'd with rods, 
Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear 
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. 
In Richard's time, — What do you call the place ? — 
A plague upon't ! — it is in Gloucestershire ; — 
'Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept ; 
His uncle York ; — where I first bow^'d my knee 
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, 
W^hen you and he came back from Ravenspurg. 

North. At Berkley castle. 

Hot. 'You say true : 

Why, w^hat a candy deal of courtesy 

This fawning greyhound then did profler me ! 

l^ook^— when his i/ if ant fortune came to age^ 

And. gentle Harry Percy,— ^nd^ kind cousin. — • 

O, the devil take such cozeners ! — Heaven forgive me ! — 

Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. 

Wor. Nay, if you have not, to't again ; 
We'll stay your leisure. 
• Hot. I have done, i'faith. 

Wor. Then onco more to your Scottish prisoners. 
Deliver them up without their ransom straight, 
And make the Douglas' son your only mean 
For powers in Scotland ; which, — for divers reasons, 
Which I shall send vou written. — be assur'd. 



KING HENRY IV. 421 

Will easily be granted. — You, my lord, — [To Northumberland 

Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd, — 

Shall secretly into the bosom creep 

Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd, 

The archbishop. 

Hot. or York, is't not? 

Wor. 1 . ;e ; who bears hard 
His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop. 
I speak not this in estimation, 
As what I think might be, but what I know 
Is ruminated, plotted and set down ; 
And only stays but to behold the face 
Of that occasion that shall bring it on. 

Hot. I smell it ; upon my life, it will do well. 

North. Before the game's afoot, thou still let'st slip. 

Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a ncble plot : — 
And then the power of Scotland, and of Y^ork, — 
To join with Mortimer, ha ? 

Wor. And so they shall. r ^* 

Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. 

Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed, 
To save our heads by raising of a head : 
For, bear ourselves as even as we can, 
The king will always think him in our debt; 
And think we think ourselves unsatisfied. 
Till he hath found a time to pay us home. 
And see already hovv' he doth begin 
To make us strangers to his looks of love. 

Hot. He does, he does ; we'll be reveng'd on him. 

Wor. Cousin, farewell ; — No further go in this 
Than I by letters shall direct your course. 
When time is ripe, (which will be suddenly,) 
I'll steal to Glendower, and lord Mortimer : 
Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once, 
(As I will fashion it.) shall happily meet, 
To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms. 
Which now we hold with much uncertainty. 

North. Farewell, good brother, we shall thrive, I trust. 

Hot. Uncle, adieu : — O, let the hours be short, 
Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport. [Exeunt. 

Hotspnr and his confederates meet in consultation, preparatory to the battle lof 
Shrewsbury. ^ 

ACT III. 

SCENE I. — Bangor. A Room in the Archdeacon's House. 
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and^ Glendower. 
Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure, 
And our induction full of prosperous hope. 



422 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Hot. Lord Mortimer, — and cousin Glendower, — 

Will you sit down ? 

And, uncle Worcester : — A plague upon't ! 
I have forgot the map. 

Glend. No, here it is. 

Sit, cousin Percy ; sit, good cousin Hotspur : 
For by that name as oft as Lancaster 
Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale, and, with 
A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven. 

Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears 
Owen Glendower spoke of. 

Glend. I cannot blame him : at my nativity, 
The front of heaven w^as full of fiery shapes, 
Of burning cressets ; and, at my birth. 
The frame and huge foundation of the earth 
Shak'd like a coward. 

Hot. Why, so it would have done 

At the same season, if your mother's cat had 
But kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er been born. 

Glend. I say, the earth did shake when I was born. 

Hot. And I say, the earth was not of my mind. 
If you suppose, as fearing you it shook. 

Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble. 

Hot. O then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire, 
And not in fear of your nativity. 
Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth 
Li strange eruptions. 

Which shake old beldame earth, and topple down 
Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth, 
Our grandam earth, having this distemperature, 
In passion shook. 

Glend. Cousin, of many men 

I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave 
To tell you once again, — that at my birth. 
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes ; 
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds 
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. 
These signs have mark'd me extraordinary ; 
And all the courses of m}'' life do show, 
I am not in the roll of common men. 
Where is he living, — clipp'd in with the sea 
That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales, — 
Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me ? 
And bring him out, that is but woman's son. 
Can trace me in the tedious ways of art, 
And hold me pace in deep experiments. 

Hot. I think there is no man speaks better Welsh. — 

Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you : 
For I was train'd up in the English court : 



KING HENRY IV. 423 

Where, being but young, I framed to the harp 
Many an English ditty, lovely well, 
And gave the tongue a helpful ornament ; 
A virtue that was never seen in you. 

Hot. Marr}^ and Fm glad of 't with all my heart : 
I had rather be a kitt?n and cry — mew, 
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers : 
I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd, 
Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree ; 
And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, 
Nothing so much as mincing poetry ; 
'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag. 

Mort. Peace, cousin Percy ; you will make him mad. 

Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. 

Hot. Why, so can I ; or so can any man : 
But will they come, when you do call for them ? 

Glend. Whv. I can teacli vou, cousin, to command 
The devil. 

Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the de\ilj 
By telling truth ; Tell truth, and shame the devil. — 
If thou have power to raise him. bring him hither, 
And lil be sworn, I have power to shame him hence. 
O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil. — 

Mort. Come, come. 
No more of this unprofitable chat. 

Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head 
Against my power : thrice from the banks of Wyne, 
And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him 
Bootless home, and weather-beaten back. 

Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weatlier too ! 
How 'scapes he agues ? 

The following scene is admirably descriptive of the characters of Henry IV. and the 
3'oung Prince of Wales. 

SCENE II. — London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter KI^•G- Henry, Prhsxe of Wales, and Lords. 
K. Hen. Lords, give us leave ; the Prince of Wales and I 
Must have some conference : But be near at hand. 
For we shall presently have need of you. — [Ex. Lords. 

I know not whether God will have it so. 
For some displeasing service I have done, 
That, in his secret doom, out of my blood 
He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me ; 
But thou dost, in ^ly passages of life. 
Make me believe, — -that thou art only mark'd 
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven, 
To punish my mi s-t readings. Tell me else, 



424 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Could such inordinate, and low desires, 

Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts, 

Such barren pleasures, rude society, 

As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to, 

Accompany the greatness of thy blood. 

And hold their level with thy princely heart ? 

P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would, I could 
Quit all offences with as clear excuse. 
As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge 
Myself of many I am charg'd withal : 
Yet such extenuation let me beg, 
As, in reproof of many tales devis'd, — 
Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear, — 
By smiling pick-thanks and base newsmongers, 
I may, for some things.true, wherein my youth 
Hath faulty wander'd and irregular, 
Find pardon on my true submission. 

K. Hen, Heaven pardon thee ! — yet let me wonder, Harry, 
At thy affections, which do hold a wing 
Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. 
Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost, 
Which by thy younger brother is supplied ; 
And art almost an alien to the hearts 
Of all the court and princes of my blood ; 
The hope and expectation of thy time 
Is ruin'd ; and the soul of every man 
Prophetically does forethink thy fall. 
Had I so lavish of my presence been, 
So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men, 
So stale and cheap to vulgar company ; 
Opinion, that did help me to the crown. 
Had still kept loyal to possession ; 
And left me in reputeless banishment, 
A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood. 
By being seldom seen, I could not stir, 
But, like a comet, I was wonder'd at : 
That men would tell their children, TMs is he; 
Others would say, — Where 1 which is Bolingbroke ? 
And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, 
And dress'd myself in such humility. 
That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts. 
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths, 
Even in the presence of the crowned king. 
Thus did I keep my person fresh, and new ; 
My presence, like a robe pontifical. 
Ne'er seen, but wonder'd at : and so my state, 
Seldom, but sumptuous, showed like a feast ; 
And won, by rareness, such solemnity. 
The skipping king, he ambled up and down 



KING HENKY IV. 425 



With shallow jesters, and rash ba\-in wits, 

Soon kindled, and soon bum'd : carded his state ; 

Mingled his royalty with capering fools ; 

Had his great name profaned with their scorns : 

And gave his countenance, against his name, 

To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push 

Of every beardless vain comparative : 

Grew a companion to the common streets, 

Enfeoff'd himself to popularity : 

That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, 

They surfeited with honey ; and began 

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a httle 

More than a little is by much too much. 

So, when he had occasion to be seen, 

He vras but as the cuckoo is in June. 

Heard, not regarded ; seen, but with such eyes, 

As. sick and blunted with community. 

Afford no extraordinary gaze, 

Such a? is bent on sun-like majesty 

^\Tien it shines seldom in admiring eyes : 

But rather drowz'd and hung their eyelids down, 

Slept in his face, and rendered such aspect 

As cloudy men use to their adversaries ; 

Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd. and full. 

And in that very line, Harry, stand'st thou : 

For thou hast lost thy princely privilege, 

With vile participation ; not an eye 

But is a-weary of thy common sight, 

Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more ; 

Which now doth that I would not have it do, 

Make blind itself \nth foolish tenderness. 

P. Hen. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, 
Be more myself. 

K. Hen. For all the world, 

As thou art to this hour, was Richard then 
Wlien I from France set foot at Ravenspurg ; 
And even as I was then, is Percy now. 
Now by my sceptre, and my soul to boot, 
He hath more worthy interest to the state, 
Than thou, the shadow of succession : 
For, of no right, nor color Hke to right, 
He doth fill fields with harness in the realm : 
Turns head against the lion's armed jaws ; 
And, being no more in debt to years than thou, 
Leads ancient lords %nd reverend bishops on, 
To bloody battles, and to bruising arms. 
^Mlat never-dying honor hath he got 
Against renowned Douglas ; whose high deeds, 



42^ SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Whose hot incursions, and great name in arms, 

Holds from all soldiers chief majority, 

And military title capital, 

Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ ? 

Thrice hath this Hotspur Mars in swathing clothes, 

This infant warrior in his enterprises 

Discomfited great Douglas : ta'en him once, 

Enlarg'd him, and made a friend of him, 

To fill the mouth of deep defiance up. 

And shake the peace and safety of our throne. 

And what say you to this ? Percy, Northumberland, 

The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer, 

Capitulate against us, and are up. 

But w^herefore do I tell these news to thee ? 

Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, 

Which art my near'st and dearest enemy ? 

Thou that art like enough, — through vassal fear. 

Base inclination, and the start of spleen, — 

To fight against me under Percy's pay, 

To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns, 

To show how much degenerate thou art ? 

P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find it so ; 
And Heaven forgive them, that have so much sway'd 
Your majesty's good thoughts away from me ! 
I will redeem all this on Percy's head, 
And. in the closing of some glorious day, 
Be bold to tell you, that I am your son ; 
When I will wear a garment all of blood, 
And stain my favors in a bloody mask. 
Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it. 
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, 
That this same child of honor and renown, 
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight. 
And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet. 
For every honor sitting on his helm, 
Would they were multitudes ; and on my head 
My shames redoubled ! for the time will come, 
That I shall make this northern youth exchange 
His glorious deeds for my indignities. 
Percy is but my factor, good my lord. 
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf ; 
And I will call him to so strict account, 
That he shall render every glory up. 
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, 
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. 
This, in the name of Heaven, I promise here : 
The which if it be pleas'd I shall perform, 
I do beseech your majesty, may salve 



KL\G HENRY IV. 427 



The long-gro\vn wounds of my intemperance : 
If not, the end of hfe cancels all bands ; 
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths, 
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. 

K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this : — 
Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust, herein. 



KING HENEY VIII. 



Many of the incidents of this Play, and much of the dialogue, were taken by Shaks- 
peare from chronicles of HolUn^^shed and Stowe, who were themselves indebted to " Cav- 
endish's Life of Wolsey " for most of the particulars they gave of the Cardinal's history. 

Shakspeare has depicted the character of the gentle and noble-hearted Katharine of 
Arragon, with such felicitous skill, that the scenes in which she is introduced are con- 
sidered among the finest efforts of the Poet's genius. 

The haughty Wolsey, is also a powerfully drawn picture. Our selections are devoted 
to the display of these two master-pieces of historical dramatic composition. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

King Henry the Eighth. 

Cardinal Wolsey. 

Cardinal Campeius. 

Capucius, Ambassador from the Emperor ^ Charles V. 

Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Duke of Norfolk. 

Duke of Buckingham. 

Duke of Suffolk. 

Earl of Surrey. 

Lord Chamberlain. 

Lord Chancellor. 

Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester. 

Bishop of Lincoln. 

Lord Abergavenny. 

Lord Sands. 

Sir Henry Guilford. 

Sir Thomas Lovell. 

Sir Anthony Denny. 

Sir Nicholas Vaux. 

Secretaries to Wolsey. 

Cromwell, servant to Wolsey. 

Griffith, Gentleman- Usher to Queen Katharine. 

Three other Gentlemen 



ll 



# 



KING HENRY VIIT. 429 

Doctor Btrrxs, physician to the King. 
Garter King at Arms. 
Surveyor to the Duke 0/ Buckingham. 
Brandon, and a Sergeant at Arms. 
Doorkeeper of the Council-Chamber. 
Porter, and his man. 
Page to Gardiner. 
A Crier. 

Queen Kathari>-e, tcife to King Henry, afterwards divorced. 
Anne Bullen, her Maid of Honor, afterwards Queen. 
An old Lady, friend to Anne Buiien. 
PATIE^'CE, woman to Queen Katharine. 

Several Lords and Ladies in the Dumb Shows ; Women attending upon 
the Queen ; Spirits which appear to her ; Scribes, Officers, Guards, 
and other Attendants. 

SCENE, — chiefly in London and "Westminster, once at Kimbolton. 



ACT I. 

Q,ueen Katharine tacnrred the jealousy and hatred of Wolsey, by her opposition to 
his overbearing arrogance, and the exactions he was continnaily enforcing on the people. 

Shakspeare introduces the Queen, as a suitor to the King, on the subject of these 
oppressions of the people. 

SCENE II.— The Council- Chamber. 

Comets. Enter King Henry, Cardinal Wolsey, the Lords of the 
Council, Sir Tho3Ias Lovell, Officers, and Attendants. The 
King enters, leaning on the Cardinal's shoulder. 

K. Hen. My life itself, and the best heart of it, 
Thanks you for this great care : I stood i' the level 
Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks 
To you that chok'd it. 

The King takes his State. The Lords of the Council iaJce their several 
places. The Cardinal places himself under the King's /ee/, on his 
right side. 

A noise within, crying, Room for the Queen ! Enter the QrEEN, 
ushered by the Dl^kes of Norfolk and Suffolk : she kneels. The 
King rises from his State, takes her up, kisses, and places her by 
him. 

Q. Kath. Nay, we must longer kneel ; I am a suitor. 

K. Hen. Arise, and take place by us : — Half your suit 
Never name to us ; you have half our power ; 
The other moiety, ere you ask, is given ; 
Repeat your will, and take it. 



430 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Q. Kaih. Thank your majesty. 

That you would love yourself; and, in that love, 
Not unconsider'd leave your honor, nor 
The dignity of your office, is the point 
Of my petition. 

K, Hen. Lady mine, proceed. 

Q. Kaih. I am solicited, not by a few. 
And those of true condition, that your subjects 
Are in great grievance : there have been commissions 
Sent down among them, which have flaw'd the heart 
Of all their loyalties : — wherein, although, 
My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches 
Most bitterly on you, as putter-on 
Of these exactions, yet the king our master, 
(Whose honor heaven shield from soil !) even he escapes not 
Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks 
The sides of loyalty, and almost appears 
In loud rebellion. 

Nor. Not almost appears, 

It doth appear : for upon these taxations. 
The clothiers all, not able to maintain 
The many to them 'longing, have put off 
The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, 
Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger. 
And lack of other means, in desperate manner 
Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar, 
And Danger serves among them. 

K. Hen. Taxation ! 

Wherein ? and what taxation ? — My lord cardinal, 
You that are blam'd for it alike with us. 
Know you of this taxation ? 

Wol. Please you, sir, 

I know but of a single part, in aught 
Pertains to the state ; and front but in that file 
Where others tell steps with me. 

Q. Kath. No, my lord, 

You know no more than others : but you frame 
Things, that are known alike ; which are not wholesome 
To those which would not know them, and yet must 
Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions 
Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are 
Most pestilent to the hearing ; and to bear them, 
The back is sacrifice to the load. They say. 
They are devis'd by you ; or else you suffer 
Too hard an exclamation. 

K. Hen. Still exaction ! 

The nature of it ? In what kind, let's know, 
Is this exaction ? 

Q. Kath. I am much too venturous 



KING HEXRY VIII. 431 

In tempting of your patience ; but am bolden'd 

Under your promis'd pardon. The subject's grief 

Comes through commissions, which compel from each 

The sixth part of his substance, to be levied 

Without delay ; and the pretence for this 

Is nam'd. your wars in France : This makes bold mouths ; 

Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze 

Allegiance in them ; their curses now, 

Live where their prayers did ; and it's come to pass. 

That tractable obedience is a slave 

To each incensed will. I would, your highness 

Would give it quick consideration, for 

There is no primer business. 

K. Hen. By my life, 

This is against our pleasure. 

Wol. And for me, 

I have no further gone in this, than by 
A single voice ; and that not pass'd me, but 
By learned approbation of the judges. 
K I am traduc'd by tongues, which neither know 
My faculties, nor person, yet will be 
The chronicles of my doing, — let me say, 
'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake 
That virtue must go through. We must not stint 
Our necessary actions, in the fear 
To cope malicious censurers ; which ever, 
As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow 
That is new trimm'd ; but benefit no further 
Than vainly longing. ^Vhat we oft do best, 
By sick interpreters, once Vv'eak ones, is 
Not ours, or not allow'd ; what worst, as oft, 
Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up 
For our best act. If we shall stand still, 
In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, 
W"e should take root here where we sit, or sit 
State statues only. 

K. Hen. Things done well, 

And with a care, exempt themselves from fear ; 
Things done ^^ithout example, in their issue 
Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent 
Of tliis commission ? I believe, not any. 
W^e must not rend our subjects from our laws, 
And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each ? '^^^ 
A trembling contribution ! \Miy, we take. ^^r 

From ever}' tree, iop, bark, and part o* the timber ; 
And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd, 
The air will drink the sap. To ever\' county, 
Where this is question'd, send our letters, with 
Free pardon to each man that has denied 



i 



432 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

The force of this commission : Pray, look to't ; 
I put it to your care. 

Wol. A word with you. [ To the Secretary 

Let there be letters writ to every shire. 
Of the king's grace and pardon. The griev'd commons 
Hardly conceive of me ; let it be nois'd, 
That, through our intercession, this revokement 
And pardon comes : I shall anon advise you 
Further in the proceeding. 



ACT II. 

King Henry VITI. having determined to divorce Katharine, obtains a commission from 
Rome, to try the causes which have induced him to dissolve his marriage. The Pope 
sends Cardinal Campeius, who in conjunction with Wolsey are appointed to act as judges 
at the dueen's trial. 

SCENE IV.— A Hall in Black-Friars. 
Court assembled for the Trial, 

Wol. Whilst our commission from Rome is read, 
Let silence be commanded. 

K. Hen. What's the need ? 

It hath already publicly been read, 
And on all sides the authority allow'd ; 
You may then spare that time. 

Wol. Be't so : — Proceed. 

Scribe. Say, Henry king of England, come into the court. 

Crier. Henry king of England, come into court. 

K. Hen. Here. 

Scribe. Say, Katharine queen of England, come into court. 

Crier. Katharine queen of England, come into court. 

[ The Queen makes no answer, rises out of her chair, goes about the 
court, comes to the King, and kneels at his feet ; then speaks. 

Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you, do me right and justice ; 
And to bestow your pity on me : for 
I am a most poor woman, and a stranger, 
Born out of your dominions ; having here 
No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance ^ 

Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir, 
In what have I offended you ? what cause 
Hath my behavior given to your displeasure, 
That thus you should proceed to put me off. 
And take your good grace from me ? Heaven \vitness, 
I have been to you a true and humble wife, 
At all times to your will conformable : 
Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, 



Ai 



K1Z\G HENHY VIII. 433 

Yea. subject to your countenance ; glad, or soiry? 

As I saw it inciin'd. When was the hour, 

I ever contradicted your desire, 

Or made it not mine too ? Or which of your friends 

Have I not strove to love, although I knew 

He were nune enemy ? what friend of mine 

That had to him deriv'd your anger, did I 

Continue in my hking ? nay, gave notice 

He was from thence discharged ? Sir, call to mind 

That I have been your vrife, in this obedience, 

Upwards of twenty years. If, in the course 

And process of this time, you can report. 

And prove it too, against mine honor aught, 

My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty, 

Against your sacred person, in God's name. 

Turn me away ; and let the foul'st contempt 

Shut door upon me, and so give me up 

To tlie sharpest kind of justice. Please you, sir 

The king, your father, was reputed for 

A prince most prudent, of an excellent 

And unmatched wit and judgment : Ferdinand, 

My father, king of Spain, v/as reckon'd one 

The wisest prince, that there had reign'd by many 

A year before : It is not to be questioned 

That they had gathered a wise council to them 

Of ever}^ realm, that did debate this business. 

Who deem'd our marriage lawful : Wherefore I humbly 

Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may 

Be by my friends in Spain advis'd ; whose counsel 

I will im.plore ; if not, i' the name of God, 

Your pleasure be fulfilled ! 

Wol. You have here, lady, 

(And of your choice.) these reverend fathers ; men 
Of singular integrity and learning. 
Yea, the elect of the land, who are assembled 
To plead your cause ; It shall be therefore bootless, 
That longer you desire the court ; as well 
For your own quiet, as to rectify 
What is unsettled in the king. 

Cam. His grace 

Hath spoken well, and justly : Therefore, madam, 
It's fit this royal session do proceed ; 
And that, without delay, their arguments 
Be now produc'd, and heard, 

Q. KatJi. Lord cardinal. — 

To you I speak. 

WoJ. Your pleasure, madam ? 

Q. Kath. Sir, 

I am about to weep ; but, thinking that 
20 



434 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

We are a qaeen, (or long have dreamM so,) certain, 
The daughter of a king, my drops of tears 
I'll turn to sparks of fire. 

Wol. Be patient yet. 

Q, Kath. I will, when you are humble ; nay, before. 
Or Heaven will punish me. I do believe, 
Induc'd by potent circumstances, that 
You are mme enemy ; and make my challenge ; 
You shall not be my judge : for it is you 
Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me. — 
Therefore, I say again, 
I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul. 
Refuse you for my judge : whom, yet once more, 
I hold my most malicious foe, and think not 
At all a friend to truth. 

Wol. I do profess, 

You speak not like yourself ; who ever yet 
Have stood to charity^ and display'd the effects 
Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom 
O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me wrong \ 
I have no spleen against you ; nor injustice 
For you, or any : how far I have proceeded, 
Or how far further shall, is warranted 
By a commission from the consistory. 
Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge me, 
That I have blown this coal : I do deny it. 
The king is present : if it be known to him, 
That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound. 
And worthily, my falsehood ? yea, as much 
As you have done my truth. But if he know 
That I am free of your report, he knows, 
I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him 
It lies, to cure me ; and the cure is, to 
Remove these thoughts from you ; the which before 
His highness shall speak in, I do beseech 
You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking, 
And to say no more. 

Q. Kath. My lord, my lord, 

I am a simple woman, much too weak 

To oppose your cunning. You are meek, and humble-mouth'd ; 
You sign your place and calling, in full seeming 
With meekness and humility : but your heart 
Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. 
You have, by fortune, and his highness' favors. 
Gone slightly o'er low steps ; and now are mounted 
Where powers are your retainers : and your words, 
Domestics to you, serve your will, as't please 
Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you, 
You tender more your person's honor, than 



KING HENRY VIII. 435 

Your high profession spiritual : That again 
I do refuse you for my judge ; and here, 
Before you all, appeal unto the pope. 
To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness, 
And to be judg'd by him. 

[She curt'sies to the King, and offers to depart. 

Cam. The queen is obstinate. 

Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and 
Disdainful to be try'd by it ; 'tis not well. 
She's going away. 

K. Hen. Call her again. 

Crier. Katharine queen of England, come into the court. 

Grif. Madam, you are call'd back. 

Q. Kaih. What need you note it ? pray you. keep your way : 
When you are call'd, return. — Now the Lord help. 
They vex me past my patience ! — pray you, pass on : 
I will not tarry : no, nor ever more. 
Upon this business, my appearance make 

In any of their courts. [Exeunt Queen, Griffith, 

and her other Attendants. 

K, Heru Go thy ways, Kate : 

That man i'the world, who shall report he has 
A better wife, let him in nought be trusted, 
For speaking false in that : Thou art alone, 
(If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, 
Thy meekness saint-hke, wife-like government, — 
Obeying in commanding, — and thy parts 
Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out.) 
The queen of earthly queens : — She is noble born ; 
And, hke her true nobility, she has 
Carried herself towards me. 

ACT III. 

Queen Katharine is divorced, and Henry marries Anne Bullen. The power of Wolsey 
over the King gradually declines, and the nobles of the Court plot against him. The lords 
of Suffolk and Norfolk are particularly his enemies ; and learning that Wolsey has by 
accident given several documents to the King, containing private memorandums of his 
intrigues, and statements of his vast weeilth, they are waiting to learn the effect of this 
disclosure. 

W'oLSEY and Cro^iwell, S-crroLK and Xorfolk. 

Not. Observe, observe, he's moody. 

Wol. The packet, Cromwell, gave it you the king? 

Crom. To his own hand, in his bedchamber. 

Wol. Look'd he o' the inside of the paper ? 

Crom. Presently 

He did unseal them : and the first he view'd. 
He did it with a serious mind : a heed 



436 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Was in his countenance ! Yon, he bade 
Attend him here this morning. 

Wol. Is he ready 

To come abroad ? 

Cram. I think, by this he is. 

Wol. Leave me a while, — 
It shall be to the duchess of Alen9on, 
The French king's sister : he shall marry her. — 
Anne Bullen ! No ; I'll no Anne Bullens for him, 
There is more in it than fair visage. — Bullen ! 
No, we'll no Bullens. — Speedily I wish 
To hear from Rome. — The marchioness of Pembroke ! 

Nor. He's discontented. 

8uf. May be, he hears the king 

Does whet his anger to him. 

8ur. Sharp enough, 

Lord, for thy justice ! 

Wol. The late queen's gentlewoman : a knight's daughter, 
To be her mistress' mistress ! the queen's queen ! — 
This candle burns not clear ; 'tis I must snuff it ; 
Then, out it goes. — What though I know her virtuous, 
And well deserving ? yet I know her for 
A spleeny Lutheran, and not wholesome to 
Our cause. Again, there is sprung up 
An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer ; one 
Hath crawl'd into the favor of the king. 
And is his oracle. 

Nor. He is vex'd at something. 

Siif. I would, 'twere something that would fret the string 
The master-cord of his heart ! 

Enter the King, reading a schedule; ami Lc/ell. 

Suf. The king, the Vlnfr, 

K. Hen. What piles of wealth hath he sccv.fTirJated 
To his own portion ! and what expense by t}ie. hour 
Seems to flow from him ! How, i' the no'.n.e ci thrift. 
Does he rake this together ! — Now, my lo'As ; 
Saw you the cardinal ? 

Nor. My lord, we \yi\e 

Stood here observing him : Some stfr.ngo commotion 
Is in his brain : he bites hiB lip, and starts ; 
Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, 
Then, lays his finger on hio tempkj ; straight, 
Springs out into fast gait ; 'che:i, slops again, 
Strikes hi?: breast ha^d ; anJ aTiO/i, he casts 
His eye a^a^nst the mc^n : in most strange postures 
We La^'3 ceon him s'jt iiiinself. 

K, Hen, It may well be ; 

TLe^^ Yd p. r.u1iT-,y tV. b^s mind. This morning 



KING HENRY VIII. 437 

Papers of state he sent me to peruse, 
As I requir'd ; And, wot you, what I found 
There ; on my conscience, put unwittingly ? 
Forsooth, an inventon', tJuis importing, — 
The several parcels of his plate, his treasure. 
Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household ; which 
I find at such proud rate, that it out-speaks 
Po session of a subject. 

Nor. It's Heaven's will ; 

Some spirit put this paper in the packet 
To bless your eye withal. 

K. Hen. If we did think 

His contemplation were above the earth. 
And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still 
Dwell in his musings : but, I am afraid, 
His thinkings are below the moon, not worth 
His serious considering. 

[He iaJces his seat, and icttispers Lovell, icJio goes to Wolsey. 

Wot. Heaven forgive me ! 

Ever Heaven bless your highness I 

K. Hen. Good my lord, 

You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory 
Of your best graces in your mind ; the which 
You were now running o'er ; you have scarce time 
To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span 
To keep your earthly audit : Sure, in that 
I deem you an ill husband : and am glad 
To have vou therein mv companion. 

Wol. ' ' Sir, 

For holy offices I have a time ; a time 
To think upon the part of business, which 
I bear i' the state ; and nature does require 
Her times of presentation, which, perforce, 
I her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal, 
Must give my tendance to. 

K. Hen. You have said well. 

Wol. x\nd ever may your highness yoke togethei 
As I v.'ill lend you cause, my doing well 
With my well-saying. 

K. Hen. 'Tis well said again ; 

And 'tis a kind of good deed, to say well : 
And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you : 
He said, he did ; and with his deed did crown 
His word upon you. Since I had my office, 
I have kept you next my heart ; have not alone 
Employ'd you where high profits might come home, 
But par'd my present havings, to bestow 
Bly bounties upon vou. 

Wol, ' Vv'hat should this mean ? 



438 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

K. Hen. Have I not made you 

The prime man of the state ? I pray yon, tell me, 
If what I now pronounce, you have found true : 
And, if you may confess it, say withal, 
If you are bound to us, or no. What say you ? 

Wol. My sovereign, I confess, your royal graces, 
Shower'd on me daily, have been more, than could 
My studied purposes requite ; which went 
Beyond all man's endeavors : — my endeavors 
Have ever come too short of my desires, 
Yet, fill'd with my abilities : Mine own ends 
Have been mine so, that evermore they pointed 
To the good of your most sacred person, and 
The profit of the state. For your great graces 
Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I 
Can nothing render but allegiant thanks ; 
My prayers to heaven for you ; my loyalty, 
Which ever has, and ever shall be growing. 
Till death, that winter, kill it. 

K. Hen. Fairly answer'd ; 

A loyal and obedient subject is 
Therein illustrated ; the honor of it 
Does pay the act of it ; as i' the contrary, 
The foulness is the punishment. I presume 
That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you, 
My heart dropp'd love, my power rain'd honor more 
On you, than any ; so your hand, and heart, 
Your brain, and every function of your power. 
Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty, 
As 'twere in love's particular, be more 
To me, your friend, than any. 

Wol. I do profess. 

That for your highness' good I ever labor'd 
More than mine own ; that am, have, and will be. 
Though all the world should crack their duty to you, 
And throw it from their soul ; though perils did 
Abound, as thick as thought could make them, and 
Appear in forms more horrid ; yet my duty. 
As doth a rock against the chiding flood. 
Should the approach of this wild river break. 
And stand unshaken yours. 

K. Hen. 'Tis nobly spoken : 

Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast. 
For you have seen him open 't. — Read o'er this ; 

\_Gixmg lilm papers. 
And, after, this : and then to breakfast, with 
What appetite you have. 

\_Exit King, frowning upon Cardinal Wolsey ; the 
Nobles throng after hirn, smiling, and whispering. 



KING HEXRY nil. 439 

Wol What should this mean ? 

What sudden anger's this ; how have I reap'd it ? 
He parted frowning from me. as if ruin 
Leap'd from his eyes : so looks the chafed lion 
jpon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him ; 
Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper; 
I fear, the story of his anger. — 'Tis so ; 
This paper has undone me : — 'Tis the account 
Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together 
For mine own ends ; indeed, to gain the popedom, 
And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence. 
Fit for a fool to fall by 1 What cross devil 
Made me put this main secret in the packet 
I sent the king ? Is there no way to cure this ? 
No new device to beat this from his brains ? 
I know, 'twill stir him strongly ; yet I know 
A way. if it take right, in spite of fortune 
Will bring me off again. What's this — To the Pope? 
The letter, as I live, v.'ith all the business 
I writ to his holiness. Xay then, farewell ! 
I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness : 
And, from that full meridian of my glor}^, 
I haste now to my setting. I shall fail 
Like a bright exhalation in the evening, 
And no man see me more. 

Re-enter the Dukes of Xorfolk and Sltfolk, the Earl of Surrey, 
and the Lord Chamberlain. 

A'or. Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal : who commands you 
To render up the great seal presently 
Into our hands ; and to confine yourself 
To Asher-house, my lord of Winchester's, 
Till vou hear further from his hiofhness. 

Wol 
Where's your commission, lords ? words cannot carry 
Authority so weighty. 

Suf, Who dare cross them, 

Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly ? 

Wol. Till I find more than will, or words, to do it, 
(I mean, your malice.) know, officious lords, 
I dare, and must deny it. Now I feel 
Of what coarse metal ye are moulded, — envy. 
How eagerly ye follow my disgraces. 
As if it fed ye ! and how sleek and wanton 
Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin ! 
Follow your envious courses, men of malice ; 
You have Christian warrant for them, and, no doubr. 
In tim.e will find their fit rewards. That seal, 
You ask with such a violence, the king, 



440 SHAKSPEAHIAN READER. 

(Mine, and your master,) with his own hand gave me. 
Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honors, 
During my life, and, to confirm his goodness. 
Tied it by letters patent : Now, who'll take it ? 

Sur, The king that gave it. 

Wol. It must be himself then. 

Su7\ Thou art a proud traitor, priest. 

Wol. Proud lord, thou iiest ; 

Within these forty hours Surrey durst better 
Have burnt that tongue, than said so. 

Sur. My lords, 

Can ye endure to hear this arrogance ? 
And from this fellow ? If we hve thus tamely 
To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet, 
Farewell nobility ; let his grace go forward, 
And dare us with his cap, Uke larks. 

Wol. All goodness 

Is poison to thy stomach. 

Sur. yes, that goodness 

Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one. 
Into your own hands, cardinal, by extortion. 

Wol. How much, methinks, I could despise this man, 
But that I'm bound in charity against it ! 

Suf. Lord cardinal, the king's further pleasure is, — 
Because all those things, you have done of late 
By your power legatine vs^ithin this kingdom. 
Fall into the compass of a prceinunire, — 
That therefore such a writ be sued against you ; 
To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements. 
Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be 
Out of the king's protection : — This is my charge. 

Nor. And so we'll iea'^e you to your meditations 
How to live better. For your stubborn answer 
About the giving back the sreat seal to us, 
The king shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank you. ^ 
So fare you well, my httle good lord cardinal. 
>^^^ -■ -^ • ■-- < .. , . .. - - .,^ -- [ Exeunt all hut Wolset. 

Wol. So farew^ell to the little good you bear me. 
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
This is the state of man ; To-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms. 
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him : 
The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost ; 
And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, 
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd. 

Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, • 

This many summers in a s.ea of glory ; 
But far beyond my depth : my high-blown' pride 



KING HEN'RY VIII. 441 

At length broke under me ; and now has left me, 
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. 
Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye ; 
I feel my heart new opened : O, how >vretched 
Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favors ! 
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 
More pangs and fears than wars or women have; 
And when he falls, he falls hke Lucifer, y 

Never to hope again. — \ 

EiiiUer Cromwell, amazedly. 

Why, how now, Cromwell ? 

Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. 

WgI. What, amaz'd 

At my misfortunes ? can thy t^, irit wonder, 
A great man should decline ? Xay, an you weep, 
I am fallen indeed. 

Crom, How does vour grace ? 

WoL ^ Why well: 

Never so truly happy, my good Crom.well. 
I know myself now ; and I feel within me 
A peace above all earthly dignities, 
A still and quiet conscience. The king has curd me, 
1 humbly thank his grace ; and from these shoulders, 
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken 
A load would sink a navy, — too much honor : 
O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden. 
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. 

Crom. I am. glad, your grace has made that right use of it. 

Wol. I hope, [ have : I am able now, methinks, 
(Out of a fortitude of soul I feel.) 
To endure more miseries, and greater far, 
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 
What news abroad ? 

Crom. The heaviest and the worst, 

Is your displeasure \vith the king. 

Wol. God bless him ' 

Crom. The next is that Sir Thomas More is chosen 
Lord chancellor in your place. 

Wol. That's somewhat sudden: 

But he's a learned man. May he continue 
Long in his highness' favor, and do justice 
For truth's sake, and his conscience ; that his bones, 
When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, 
May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em ! 
What more ? 



442 SHAKSPEARIAN riEADER. 

Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, 
Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury. 

WoL That's news, indeed. 

Crom. Last, that the lady Anne, 

Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, 
This day was view'd in open, as his queen. 
Going to chapel ; and the voice is now 
Only about her coronation. 

WoL There was the weight that pull'd me down. O Cromwell. 
The king has gone beyond me : all my glories 
In that one woman I have lost for ever. 
No sun shall ever usher forth mine honors, 
Or gild again the noble troops that waited 
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell ; 
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now 
To be thy lord and master : Seek the king ; 
That sun, I pray, may never set ! I have told him 
What, and how true thou art : he will advance thee ; 
Some little memory of me will stir him, 
(I know his noble nature,) not to let 
Thy hopeful service perish too : Good Cromwell, 
Neglect him not ; make use now, and provide 
For thine own future safety. 

Crom. O my lord. 

Must I then leave you ? must I needs forego 
So good, so noble, and so true a master ? 
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, 
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. — 
The king shall have my service ; but my prayers 
For e\;er, and for ever^ shall be yours. 
'^'" Wot Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
In all my miseries ; but thou hast forc'd me 
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. 
Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; 
And, — when I am forgotten, as I shall be ; 
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee ;. 
Say, VVolsey, — that once trod the ways of glory, 
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, — 
Found thee a way, out of his wreck to rise in ; ^ 

A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. 
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ; 
By that sin fell the angels ; how can man then, 
The image of his Maker, hope to win by't ? 
Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee ? 
Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
To silence enviou«? tongues. Be just, and fear not: 



KING HENRY VIII. 443 

Let all the ends, thou aim'st at, be thy country's, 

Thy God's, and truth's ; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, 

Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king ; 

And, — Pr'ythee, lead m^e in : 

There take an inventory of all I have, 

To the last penny ; 'tis the king's : my robe. 

And my integrity to heaven, is all 

I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, 

Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal 

I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age 

Have left me naked to mine enemies. 

Crorh. Good sir, have patience. 

Wol. So I have. Farewell 

The hopes of court ! my hopes in heaven do well. [Exeunt, 

The following Scene ve?y beautifully details the last incidents of Wolsey's life — and 
exhibits the divorced Q,ueen, in her closing moments, a pattern of virtuous resignation. 

ACT IV. 

SCENE II.— Kimbolton. 

Enter Katharine, Dowager, sick ; led between Griffith and Pa- 
tience. 

Grif. How does your grace ? 

Kaih. ' O, Griffith, sick to death : 

My Hmbs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth, 
WiUing to leave their burden : Reach a chair ; 
So, — now, methinks, I feel a little ease. 
Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me, 
That the great child of honor, cardinal Wolsey, 
Was dead ? 

Grif. Yes, madam ; but, I think, your grace, 

Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't. 

Kafh. Pr'ythee, good Griffith, tell me how he died: 
If well, he stepo'd before me, happily, 
For my example. 

Grif. Well, the voice goes, madam : 

For after the stout earl Xonhumberland 
Arrested him at York, and brought him forward 
(As a man sorely tainted,) to his answer, 
He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill, 
He could not sit his mule. 

Kath. Alas, poor man ! 

Grif At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester. 
Lodg'd in the abbey ; where the reverend abbot, 
With ail his convent, honorably received him ; 
To whom he gave these words, — O father abbot, 
An old man broke?! with the storms of state. 



444 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Is come to lay his weary hones among ye ; 

Give him a Utile earth for charity ! 

So went to bed : where eagerly ins sickness 

Pursu'd him still ; and. three nights after this, 

About the hour of eight, (which he himself 

Foretold, should be his last,) full of repentance, 

Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows. 

He gave his honors to the world again, 

His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. 

Kalh. So may he rest ; his faults lie gently on him, 
And thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak of him, 
And yet with charity, — He was a man 
Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking 
Himself with princes ; one, that by suggestion 
Ty'd all the kingdom : simony was fair play ; 
His ovvm opinion v\^as his lav/. 1' the presence 
He would say untrutbs ; and be ever double, 
Both in his words and meaning : He was never, 
But where he meant to ruin, pitiful ; 
His promises were, as he then was, mighty ; 
But his performance, as he is now, nothing. 
Of his own body he was ill, and gave 
The clergy ill example. 

Grif. Noble madam, 

Men's evil manners live in brass ; their virtues 
We write in water. May it please your highness 
To hear me speak his good now ? 

Kath. Yes, good Griffith; 

I were malicious else. 

Grif. This cardinal, 

Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 
Was fashion'd to much honor. From his cradle, 
He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one ; 
Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading : 
Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not ; 
But, to those men that sought him. sweet as summer. 
And though he were unsatisfied in getting, 
(Which was a sin,) yet, in bestowing, madam, 
He was most princely : Ever witness for him 
Those twins of learning, that he rais'd in you, 
Ipswich, and Oxford ! one of which fell with him, 
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it ; 
The other, though unnnish'd, yet so famous. 
So excellent in art, and still so rising, 
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. 
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him 
For then, and not till then, he felt himself, 
And found the blessedness of being little : 



KING HENRY VIII. 445 

And, to add greater honors to his age 

Than man could give him, he died fearing God. 

Kaih. After my death I wish no other herald, ,| 

No other speaker of my living actions, 

To keep mine honor from corruption, i 

But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. 
Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, 
With thy religious truth, and modesty. 
Now in his ashes honor : Peace be wdth him !— 
Patience, be near me still ; and set me lower : 
I have not long to trouble thee. — Good Griffith, 
Cause the musicians play me that sad note 
I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating 
On that celestial harmony I go to. 

Sad and solemn music. * 

Grif. She is asleep : Good wench, let's sit down quiet, J 

For fear we wake her ; — Softly, gentle Patience. 

Kath. ( Wakes.) Spirits of peace, where are ye ? Are ye all 
gone ? 
And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye ? ^ 

Grif. Madam., we are here. 

Kalh. It is not you I call for : 

Saw ye none enter, since I slept? 

Grif. None, madam. 

Kath. No ? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop 
Invite me to a banquet ; whose bright faces 
Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun ? 
They promis'd me eternal happiness ; 
And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel 
I am not worthy yet to wear : I shall. 
Assuredly. 

Grif I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams 
Possess your fancy. 

Kath. Bid the music leave, 

They are harsh and heavy to me. [Music ceases. 

Pat. Do you note. 

How much her grace is alter'd on a sudden-; 
How long her face is drawn? How pale she looks, 
And of an earthly cold ? Mark you her eyes ? 

Grif She is going ; pray, pray. 

Pat. Heaven comfort her ! 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. An't like your grace, — 

Kath. You are a saucy fellow. 

Deserve we no more reverence ? 

Gnf You are to blame, 



446 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Knowing, she will not lose her wonted greatness 
To use so rude behavior : go to. kneel. 

Mess. I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon ; 
My haste made me unmannerly : There is staying 
A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you. 

Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith : But this fellow 
Let me ne'er see again. [Exeunt Griffith ^ Messenger, 

Re-enter Griffith, with Capucius, 

You should be lord ambassador from the emperor, 
My royal nephew, and your name Capucius. 

Cap. Madam, the same, your servant. 

Kath. O, my lord, 

The times, and titles, now are altered strangely 
With me, since first you knew me. But, I pray you, 
What is your pleasure with me ? 

Cap. Noble lady, 

First mine own service to your grace ; the next. 
The king's request that I would visit you ; 
Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me 
Sends you his princely commendations. 
And heartily entreats you take good comfort. 

Kath. O my good lord, that comfort con-tes too late ; 
'Tis Hke a pardon after execution : 
That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me •, 
But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers. 
How does his highness ? 

Cap. Madam, in good health. 

Kath. So may he ever do ! and ever flourish, 
When I shall dwell wit'h worms, and my poor name 
Banish'd the kingdom ! — Patience, is that letter, 
I caus'd you write, yet sent away ? 

Pat. No, madam. [Giving it to Katharine. 

Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver 
This to my lord the king. 

Cap. Most willingly, madam. 

Kath. In which I have commended to his goodness 
The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter : — 
The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her ! — 
Beseeching him, to give her virtuous breeding ; 
(She is young, and of a noble modest nature ; 
I hope, she will deserve well ;) and a little 
To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him, 
Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition 
Is, that his noble grace would have some pity 
Upon my wretched women, that so long, 
Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully : 
Of which there is not one, I dare avow, 
(And now I should not lie,) but will deserve, 



KING HENRY VIII. 447 

For \imie, and true beauty of the soul. 

For honesty, and decent carriao-e. 

A right good husband, let him be a noble ; 

And, sure, those men are happy that shall have them. 

The last is, for my men ;— they are the poorest, 

But poverty could never draw them, from me ;— 

That they may have their wages dulv paid them, 

And something over to remember me' bv ; 

If heaven had pleas'd to have given me longer life, 

And able means, we had not parted thus. 

These are the whole contents : And, good mv lord, 

By that you love the dearest in this world. 

As you wish Christian peace to souls departed. 

Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king; 

To do me tliis last right. 

^^P' By heaven, I will ; 

Or let me lose the fashion of a man ! 

Kath. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me 
In all humility unto his highness : 
Say, his long trouble now is passing 
Out of this worid : tell him, in dea3i I bless'd him, 
For so I will.— Mine eves grow dim.— Farewell, 
My lord— Griffith, farewell.— Nay, Patience, 
lou must not leave me yet. I must to bed ; 
Call in more women.— When I am dead, good wench, 
Let me be us'd with honor ; strew me over 
With maiden flowers, that all the world may know 
I was a chaste wife to my grave : embalm me, 
Then lay me forth : although unqueen'd. yet like 
A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. 
I can no more. ' [Exeunt, hading Katharine. 



THE END* 



imtk nni Intin. 



ARNOLD'S CLASSICAL SERIES. 

r. 
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A.ND PRACTICAL GRAMMAR. By Thomas K. Arnold, A. M. Revised and caieiully 

Corrected, by J. A. Spencer, A. M. One vol. r2mo., 75 cis. 

n. 
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V. 

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For ihe L'se of Schools ; concainins the substance of the Practical Introduction to Greek Con 

etruing, and a Treatise on the Greek Particles, by the Rev. Thomas K. Arnold, 

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Notes, Critical and Explanatorv. and a Lexicon, by 

J. A. Spencer, A. M. i2ino., -Si 50 

VL 

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Thomas K. Arnold. A. M. Revised, with Additional Notes, by Prof Johnson, 

Professor of the Latin Language in the University of the City of 

New-York. l-2mo. A new, enlarged edition, with 

Lexicon, Index, <fcc., 81. • 

** Arnold's Greek and Latin Series. — The publication of this valuable collection of 
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leaching and acquiring languages. Heretofore boys have been condemned to the drudgery o' 
going over Latin and Greek Grammar without the remotest conception of the value of wha 
;hey were learning, and every day becoming more and more disgusted with the djy a^ un- 
meaning task ; but now, by Mr. Arnold's admirable method — substantially the same w^ithWai of 
Ollendorff— the moment they take up the study of Latin or Greek, ihey begin to learn sentences, 
to acquire ideas, to see how the Romans and" Greeks expressed themselves, how their mode of 
expression differed from ours, and by degrees ihey lay up a stock of knowledge which is utterly 
astonishing to those who have dragged' on moiiih alter monih in the old- fashioned, dry, ai:d 
tedious way of learning languages. 

" xMr. Arnold, in faci, has had the good sense to adopt the system of nature.^A child leama 
his own language by imitating what^'he hears, and consia.ni\y' repeating it till it is fastened tn 
the memoiy'^; in the same way Mr. A. pvits the pupil immediately to work at ^cercises in Litin 
and Greek, involving the elementary principles of the language— words are s^^^ed— the u ide 
of putting them together is told the pupil — he is shown how the ancients exp^^d their ideas ; 
and then, by repealling these things again and again — itermn iterumgne—ihe "Sbcile puf il has 
•iiem indelibly impressed upon his memorv and rooted in his understanding. 

'•The American Editor is a thorough classical scholar, and has been a"practical teacher for 
Years in this city. He has devoted the^utmost care to a complete revision of Mr. Arnold's works 
has corrected several errors of inadvertence or otherwise, has rearranged and improved various 
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mg and mechanical execution of the whole. We aniicipate most confidently the speedy adoption 
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*.' Arnold s Scries of Classical Works has attained a circulation ahnosl unparalleled, beins 
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> 



(Bink ml Xutin. 



THE HISTORIES 

OF 

CAIUS CORNELIUS TACITUS. 

WITH NOTES FOR COLLEGES 

BY W. S. TYLER, 

Professor of Languages in Amherst College. 
One volume, 12mo. $1,00. 

The text of this edition follo'.vs, for the most part, Orelli's, Zurich, 1848, which, he.i^s based on 
ft new and most faithful recension of the Medicean IMS., by his friend Baiter, may jusdy be con- 
sidered as marking a new era in the history of the text of Tacitus. In several passages, however, 
where he has needlessly departed from the MS., I have not hesitated to adhere to it in coir- piny 
with other editors, believing, that not unfrequently " the most corrected copies are the less correct.'' 
The various readings have been carefully compared throughout, and, if important, are referred to is 
the notes. 

The editions which have been most consulted, whether in the criticism of the text or in the 
preparation of the notes, are, besides Orelli's, those of VValther, Halle, 1831 ; Ruperti, Hanove*" 
J839 ; and Doderlein, Halle, 1847. * * * * 

It vvili be seen, that there are not unfrequent references to my edition of the Germania and 
Agricola. These are not of such a nature, as to render this incomplete without that, or essentially 
dependent upon it Still, if both editions are used, it will be found advantageous to read the 
Germania and Agricola first. The Treatises were written in that order, and in that order they best 
illustrate the history of the author's mind. The editor has found in his experience as a teacher, 
that students generally read them in that way with more facility and plea-sure, and he has con- 
structed nis notes accordingly. It is hoped, that the notes will be found to contain not only the 
grammatical, but likewise all the geographical, archaeological and historical illustrations, that are 
necessary to render the author intelligible. The editor has at least endeavored to avoid the fault, 
which Lord Bacon says " is over usual in annotations and commentaries, viz., to blanch the 
obscure places, and discourse upon the plain." But it has been his constant, not to say his chief 
aim, to carry students beyond the dry details of grammar and iexicography, and introduce them 
into a familiar acquaintance and lively sympathy with the author and his times, and with that 
great em[)ire , of whose degeneracy and decline in its beginnings he has bequeathed to us so profound 
and instructive a history. The Indexes have been prepared with much labor and care, and, it it 
beiioved, will add materially to the value of the work. — Extract from Preface. 

THE GERMANIA AND AGRICOLA 

OF 

CAIUS r^ORNELIUS TACITUS. 

WITH NOTES FOR COLLEGES. 
f BY W. S- TYLER, 



Professor of th^^Qr^ek and Latin Languages in Amherst College, 
1^, > • ' One very neat volume, 12mo. 6"2i cents. 



i 



'* Wa welcon^ the book tis a useful addition to the classical literature of our country. It 'o vti^y 
•orrectly antielemntly prepared and printed. Thirteen pages are occupied by a well-written Lii^« 
of Tacitus, in wylch not meuely outward events are narrated, but the character of the bisto. .as. 
both as a man a|a^ writer, is min'utelv'and i'aitlifully drawn. The notes to each of the tiertUti'i 
ara introduced l^Bgeneral critique upon the merits and matter of the work. The body of ii-- 
notes is drawn t|P^'ith carj, learning, and Judgment. Points of style and grammatical cui'..<triit 
tions, and histori€al references, are ably illustrated. We have been struck with the elegnnt 
precision which marks these notes ; they hit the happy medium between the too much o! bonie 
commentators, and the too little of others." — JSTortk .f]mericin Review. 

Among the numerous classical Professors wh > have highly commended and introduced iliis 
v<;lnme, are FeIton of JLiward, Linxoln o^ Brown University, Crosby of Dartmouth, Colkma» 
of Princoion, North ->f Hamikr.u, Packard of Bowdoin. Owen of New- York, Ciiampi.in c* 
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innk nni Intin. 



TITUS LITIUS 



CHIEFLY FROM THE TEXT OF ALSCHEFSKL 

WITH 

ENGLISH NOTES, GRAMMATICAL AND EXPLANATORY. 

TOGETHER 

WITH A GEOGRAPHICAL A.\D HISTORICAL INDEX. 

BY J. L. LINCOLN,, 

Professor of Latin in Brown University. 

Wj'TH an ACCOrHPANYING PLAN OF R03IE, AXD A MAP OF THE PASSAGE 02 HANNIBAL. 

One volume, 12mo. Price 61. 

T^e publishers believe that, in the ediiion of Livy herevv-ith announced, a want is supplied 
which nas been universally felt ; there being previous to this no American edition furnisher" will 
Lhe requisite appara'us for the successful prosecudon of the study of tliis Latin author. 

OPINIONS OF CLASSICAL PROFESSOPvS. 

From Professor Kingsley^ of Yale College. 

"I have not yet been able to read the whole of your work, but have examined it enough tc o^ 
satisfied that it is judiciously prepared, and well adapted to the purpose intended. We use i: 
for the present year, in connectioa with the edition that has been U5;ea lor several years. Most 
of the class, however, have procured your edition ; and it is probable that next year it will be 
used by all." 

Frojn Professor Tyler^ of Amherst College. 
'• The notes seem to me to be prepared with much care, learning, and taste : the gi-ammatical 
illustrations are unusually lull, faithful, and able. The bo >k has been used by our Freshman 
Class, and will I doubt nut come into general use in our colleges. 

From Professor Packard^ of Bowdoin College. 
" T have recommended your edition to our Freshman Class. I have no doubt that your labors 
will give a new impulse to the study of this cliarming classic. 

From Professor Ajiderson, of Waterville College. 
"A careful examination of several portions of your work has convinced me that, for the use 
of students it is altogether superior to any edition of Livy with v.-hich I am acquainted. Among 
its excellences you will permit me to name, the close attention given to panicles — to the sub- 
junctive mood— the constant references to the grammars — the discrimination of words nearly 
synonymous, and the care in giving the localities mentioned in the text. The book will be here- 
after used in our college." 

From Professor Johnson., of Xexv-York University. 
" I can at present only say that your edition pleases me much. I shall give it to one of rcy 
sses next week. I am prepared to find it just what was wanted." 



NEARLY READY. 

WORKS OF HORACE. 

WITH ENGLISH NOTES, CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY. 
BY J. L. LINCOLN, 

Professor of Latin in Brown University. 

WITH :MAPS and ILLUSTRATIONS. 

One volume, r2mo. 

Tlie text of this edition will be chiefly that of Orelli : and the No'es. besides embt»dymg *rhat- 
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results of the Editor's studies a:5<! experience as a College Protessor, which he h.is been iralser- 
me and maturing for several ve^rs with a view to publication. It will be uie aim o; ho-'i the 
Publishers and the E iit, r to mrke this edition in all respects suitable to the wpnt.s ot A;.; • ■ m 
echools and colleges 



(0OTk Dili ICntiu. 



C. JULIUS CiESAR'^ COMMENTARIES 



GALLIC WAR. 



With English Notes, Critical and Explanatory ; A Lexicon, Geographical and 
Historical Indexes, &c. 

BY REV. J. A. SPENCERj A. M.^ 

Editoi^ of '■''Arnold's Series of Greek and Latin Books,-' etc. 

One handsome vol. 12mo, with Map. Price $1. 

The pres< of Messrs. Appleton is becoming prolific of superior editions of the classics used 
in schools, and the volume now before us we are disposed to regard as one of the most beautiful 
and highly finished among them all, both in its editing and its execAition. The classic Latin in which 
the greatest general and the greatest writer of his age recorded his achievements, has been sadly 
corrupied in'the lapse of centuries, and its restoration to a pure and perfect text is a work re- 
quiring nice discrimination and sound learning. The text which Mr. Spencer has adopted is that 
of Oudendorp, with such variations as were suggested by a careful collation of the leading critics 
of Germany. The notes are as they should be, designed to aid the labors of the studenl, not to 
supersede them. In addition to these, the volume contains a sketch of the life of Caesar, a brief 
Lexicon of Latin words, a Historical and a Geographical Index, together with a map of the 
country in which the great Roman conqueror conducted the campaigns he so graphically de- 
scribes. The volume, as a whole, however, appears to be admirably suited to the purpose for 
which it was designed. Its style of editing and its typographical execution reminds us of Prof. 
Lincoln's excellent edition of Livy — a work which some months since had already passed to a 
second impression, and ha' now been adopted in most of the leadmg schools and -i : lieges of the 
country. — Providence Journal. 



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3talWE. 

OLLENDORFF'S NEW METHOD 

OF 

LEARNING TO READ/WRITE, AND SPEAK 

THE ITALIAN LA^^GUAGE. 

With Additior^and Corrections by Felix Foresti, Prof, of the Italian Language in Columbia 
College, New- York City. One volume, 12mo. $1 50. 

KEY TO THE EXERCISES. 

One vol. 12mo. 75 cts. 
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'• Ollendorff's Italian Grammar. — Tiie system of learning and teaching the Uving lan- 
guages by Ollendorff is so superior to all other modes, that in England and on the ccntinent of 
Europe, scarcely any other is in use, in v^ell-directed academies and other institutions of learning-. 
To those who feel disposed to cultivate an acquaintance with Italian literature, this work will 
prove invaluable, abridging, by an immense deal, the period commonly employed in studyiug 
the language." 



ACCOMPANIMENT TO OLLENDORFF'S ITALIAN GRAMMAR. 

CRESTOMAZIA ITALIANA: 

A COLLECTION OF 

SELECTED PIECES IN ITALIAN PROSE, 

DESIGNED AS A 

CLASS READING BOOK FOR BEGINNERS 

IN THE STUDY OF 

THE ITALIAN LANGUAGE. 

BY E. FELIX FORESTI9 LL. D., 

PROFESSOR OF THE ITALIAN LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE IN COLUMBIA COLLEGE 
AND IN THE UNIVERSITY OF THE CITY OF NEW- YORK. 
One volume, 12mo. Price $1. 
" The Italian Reader is compiled by Mr. Foresti, Professor of the Italian Language in the 
Columbia College and the University of New-York. It appears to be designed to follow the study 
of OUendorflfs Italian Grammar, on which work many correct judges have pronounced that no 
important improvement can well be made. In making selections for the book before us, Mr. 
Foresti has preferred moderR Italian writers to the old school of novelists, historians, and poets. 
In this he has done a good thing ; for the Italian Reader contains the modern language. True, 
there are some innovations, some changes which many would deem a departure from original 
puiity, but nevertheless it is f/ie language which one finds and hears spoken in Italy. These 
chr^iges have gone on under the eye and against the stern authority of the Academy delta Cnisca. 
ai.d in their mamificent new dictionary, new in process of publication, they have found them- 
selves compelled to insert many words which are the growth not only of modern necessity, but 
of ,:aprice. 

" The selections in the Italian Reader are from popular authors, such as Botta, Manzoni, 
Machiavelli, Villani, and others. They are so made as not to constitute mere exercises, but con- 
tain distinct relations so complete as to gratify the reader and engage his attention while they 
instruct. This is a marked improvement on that old system which exacted much labor without 
enlisting the sympathies of the student. The selections from Manzoni, for example, are from 
the " Promessi Sposi,'^ one of the noblest works of fiction ever issued from the press — a work 
60 popular as to have gone through an incredible number of editions in Italy, while it has been 
translated into every language of Europe. There have been, we believe, no less than three dis- 
tinct English translations made, two of which were done in this country. The Reader contains 
six extracts from this novel, among which are the beautiful episodes of Father Cristoforo and 
the Nun of Monza, and a description of the famine and plague of Milan in the year 1630. The 
account of the plague rivals the celebrated one of Bocca'cio in his Decameron. The idioms 
that occur in the selections are explained by a glossary appended to each. The Italian Reader 
can with confidence be recommended to students in the language as a safe and sure guide. After 
mastering it, the Italian poets and other classicists may be approached with confidence.''— -Sarcr* 
nuh Rej/Lihlican. 

: \ 



(0BrmaD. 



OLLENDORFF'S NEW METHOD 
OF LEARNING TO READ, WRITE, AND SPEAK 

THE GERMAN LANGUAGE. 

Reprinted from the Frankfort edition, to which is added a Systematic Outline of the differcDl 

Parts of Speech, their Inflection and Use, with full Paradigms, and a 

complete List of the Irregular Verbs. 

BY GEORGE J. A D L E Rj A. B., 

Professor of German in the University of the City of New-York. One volume, 12mo. $1 50. 
[LT A KEY TO THE EXERCISES, in a separate voiame. 75 cts. 

*' Ollendorff's neia method of Learning to Read^ Write, and Speak the German Lan- 
guage, with a systematic outline of German Grammar, by George. I. Adler, is one of those rare 
works which leave nothing to be desired on the subjects of which they treat. The learner's dif 
ficulties are so fully and exactly provided for, that a constant sense of satisfaction and pi ogress 
is felt from the beginning to the end of the book. A bare inspection of one of the lessons will 
satisfy any one acquainted with the elements of German grammar, that it adapts itself perfectly 
to his wants. With the systematic outline of grammar by Prof Adler, the new method is sub- 
stantially perfect, and it is probably second inlts advantages only to residence and intercourse 
with educated Germans." 

" The study of the German is becoming so essential a part of an ordinary education, that 
every work tending to facilitate the acquisition of the language should be welcomed. An Ameri- 
can edition of Ollendorff has been much wanted. His system is based upon natural principles. 
, He teaches by leading the student to the acquisition of phrases, from which he deduces the rules 
of the language. The idioms are also carefully taught, and the entire construction of the system 
is such that, if adhered to with fidelity and perseverance, it will secure such a practical know- 
ledge of the German as can be acquired by no other mode, so rapidly and thoroughly. We 
heartily commend the book to all who really wish to understand a tongue which contains so 
many treasures. 

A PROGHESSIVE GERMAN EEADER, 

PREPARED WITH REFERENCE TO 

' OLLENDORFF'S GERMAN GRAMMAR, 

WITH COPIOUS NOTES AND A VOCABULARY, 

BY G. J. A DLER, 

Professor of the German Language and Literature in the University of the City of N. Y. 
One volume, 12mo. $1. 
The favorable reception which Ollendorff's German Grammar has received from the Ameri- 
can public, has induced the Publishers and the Editor to comply with the very general demand 
for a German Reader. 

The plan of this Reader is as follows, viz. : 

1. The pieces are both prose and poetry, selected from the best authors, and are so arranged 
as to present sufficient variety to keep alive the interest of the scholar. 

2. It is progressive in its nature, the pieces being at first very short and easy, and increasing 
in difficulty and length as the learner advances. * 

3. At the bottom of the page constant referenc»is to the Grammar are made, the difficult pas- 
sages are explained and rendered. To encourage the first attempt of the learner as much as pos- 
sible, the twenty-one pieces of the first section are analyzed, and all the necessary words given at 
the bottom of the page. The notes, which at first are very abundant, diminish as the 'learnei 
advances. 

4. It contains^re sections. The frst contains easy pieces, chiefly in prose, with all the wordi 
necessary for translating them ; the second, short pieces in prose and poetry alternately, witl- 
copious notes and renderings ; the third, short popular tales of Grimm and others; the fourtf, 
select ballads and other poems from Buerger, Goethe, Schiller, Uhland, Schw^er, Cha- 
MiFSO, &c. ; the fifth, prose extracts from the first classics. 

5. At the end. is added a vocabulary of all the words occurrmg in the book. 



JUST READY, 

THE PRACTICAL GERMAN GRAMMAR; 

OR, A NATURAL METHOD OF LEARNING TO READ, WRITE, AND SPEAK 

THE GERMAN LANGUAGE. 

By CHARLES EICHHORN. One vol- l" n \ $1. 



J 



(0!rmflii. 



A DICTIONARY 

GERMAN AND ENOUSii LAxNGHAlJE? 

INDICATINO THE ACCENTUATION OF EVERY GERMAN WORD, CONTAINING SEVERAL 
nUNDRLD GERMAN SYNONYMS, TOGETHER WITH A CLASSIFICATION AND 
ALPHABETICAL LIST OK THE IRRLGLLaR VERaS, AND A DICTION- 
ARY OF GERMAN AIJBRE\^ATU)NS. 

1>/MP1LED FROM THE WORKS OF HILPERT, FLL'GEL, GRELB. HEYS6 

AND OTHERS. 

IN TWO PARTS: 

GERMAN AND ENGLISH — II. ENGLISH AND GERMAN. 

BY G. J. ADLER, A. M., 

Professor of the German Language and Literature in the Univei stty of the 
City of .Veic-YorJc. 

Cne large voicine, iivo , of 1100 pages Price ^5. Siicngly acd neatly bociKl 

Extract from the Preface. 

!n preparing this volume, our principal aim was to offer to the American student 
the German a work whicn would embody all the valuable results of the most rece 
investigations in Gennan Lexicography, and \vhioh might thus become not only ?\ reli 
hie guide for the pr^iptical acquisition of that lanjruage, but one which would not .orsal 
him in the higher walks of his pursuit, to whicb its literary and scientitic treasur 
wt.juld naturally invite him. The convictidn that such a work was a desideratum, and oi 
which claimed immediate attention, was first occasioned by the steadily increasing inte 
est maniiesied in the study of the Gemian by such among us as covet a higher iutelle< 
uiil cukure. as well as those who are ambitious to be abreast with the times in all th 
concerns the interests of Learning, Science, Art, and Philosophy. 

in comparing the different German-Eiiglish Dictionaries, it was fomid that all of the 
were deficient in their vocabulary of foreign v.ords, wliich now act so imporlanl a fia 
nut only in scientific works, but also in the best classics in the reviews, journals, new 
papers, and even in conversatione.' language of ordinai-y Ufe. Hence we have eiidea 
oiu-ed to supply the desired words required in Chemisti7, Mineraloi^y, Praci'iCai Aj 
I'ommerce. Navigation, Rheco.-ic, Grammar, Mythology, both ancient and m^Kiern. Tl 
accentuation of the UerrTian words, first introduced by lleiTisius, imd not a little impiovt 
by liilperi and his coadjutors, has also been adopted', and will be regarded as a most d 
sirabie and invaluable aid to the student. Another, and it is hoped not the least, 
able addition to the volume, are the 6}-uonyms, which we have generally given i 
abridged and not mifrequently in a new form, from Hilpert, who was the first that otlert 
to the English student a selection from the rich store of Eberhard, Ma<is, and Grube 
Nearly all the Dictionaries published in Germany having been prepaj-ed wiili speci. 
reference to the German student of the English, and being on that accoimt incomplete \ 
the German-English part, it was evidently oiu- vocation to reverse the order for this si(! 
of the Atlantic, and to give the utmost possible completeness and perfection to the Gt 
man part. This was the proper sphere of out labor. 

Morning Courier and J^^ew-York Enquirer. 

The Applstons have just published a Dictionary of the German Language^ contatn: 
English natiies of German words, and German translations of English words, by M 
Adler, Professor of German in the University of the City of New-York. 

In view of the present and rapidly increasing disposition of American students to mak 
themselves familiar with the Language and Literature of Germany, the publication 
this work seems especially timely and important. It is in form a large, substantial octav 
▼olume of 140<J pages, beautifully printed in clear and distinct type, and adapted in ever 
way to the constant services for which a lexicon is made. The purpose aimed at by ih 
editor caimol be more distinctly stated than in his own words, quoted from the prefnct 
in which he states that he sought •'to embody all the valuable results of the most rrccn 
investigations in German Lexicography, so that his work might thus become not only 
reliable guide for the ]jractical acquisi'lion of that language, but one which would lu 
forsake him m the higher walks of his pursuits, to which its literary treasures wouJ' 
naturally invite him." All who are in any degree familiar with (Jerman, can bear wi; 
iiess to the necessity tnat has long been fell for such a work. It is needed by students t 
the language at every stage of their progress. None of those hiihertc» in use have bee 
Mitisfactory— the best of them, that published in Philadelphia, in 1845, lacking v«-rv man 
of the essentials of a reliable and servicabie lexicon From a somewhat close examine 
tion of its contents, we are satisfied that Mr. Adler's Dictionary will be universally rt 
garded as the best extant. Us great superiority lies in its compi(tefyi::s, no w./rd in hu 
lepartmenl of science or literature being omitted. We cannot doubt that it will becom 
2t iitxca the oniv 'German lev''TU in u^^e -hroughout tb.' couuirv. 
19 



OLLENDORFF'S NEW METHOD 

OF 

lRNING to read, write, AiND SPEAK 
THE SPANISH LANGUAGE, 

I Appendix, containing a brief, but comprehensive Recapitulation of the Rules as well as 
ol'all the Verbs, both Regular and Irregular, so as to render iheii use ea^-j 
and familiar to the most ordinary capacity. 

TOGETHER WITH 

.ACTICAL RULES FOR SPANISH PRONUNCIATION. AND MODELS OF 
SOCIAL AND COMMERCIAL CORRESPONDENCE. 

The whole designed for young learners and persons who are their own instructors. 

VELAZQUEZ and T, SIMONNE, Professors of the Spanish and French Languages 

One volume, 12mo. or 560 pages. Price $1 50. 

A KEY TO THE SAME IN A SEPARATE VOLUME, 75 cts. 

-lendorff's Spanish Grammar. — This is another number of the admirable series o 

Lary books of instruction in the language of Modern Europe, for ivhich the public is in 

to the Appletons. Ollendorff's method of teaching languages, especially living languages, 

in universal use, and enjoys a very decided pre-eminence over any other now in use, in- 

I as it combines the merits, and avoids the faults of all others, and ha^besides. many very 

I and admirable peculiarities. No other books are now in general use, and his elementary 

•s have won a unanimous favor not often accorded to any work in any department of hu- 

lowledge. Their chief peculiarity consists in this, that they lead the learner, by gradual 

:ach perfectly simple and easy, from the first elements even to the nicest idioms of the 

5 languages, comprehending, in the process, a complete mastery of Grammatical rules and 

tial phrases. They are in common use, not only in this country, but throtighout Europe, 

J likely to supersede, every where, all similar books. 

lis method of learning Spanish, which has just been issued, is likely to be even more 

useful, especially in this country, than those which have preceded it, since recent events 

mdered a knowledge of Spanish more than usually important to all classes of our people. 

itors of the work are widely known as accomplished scholars and distinguished teachers, 

3 book derives still higher authority from their connection with k. We commend it with 

onfidence to all who desire to become acquainted with the Castilian tongue."— iVew?- York 

ir and Enquii'er. 

«^<«.«... 

1 Mm §immx hi Iptininriis in \nm ^nglislj. 

IN PREPARATION. 

|. GRAMMATICA INGLESA 

EL SI ST EM A DE OLLENDORFF, 

npafiado de un Appcndice que comprende en compendio las reglas contenidas en el cuerpo 
pal de la obra: un Tratado sobre la proniuiciacion, division y formaciou de las palabrai 
as; una lista de los verbos regulares e irregulares, census conjugaciones y las distintaa 
siciones que rigen : modelos de correspondencia, &c., dec, todo al alcance de la capacidid 
oedifina. 

FOR 

RAMON PALENZUELA, 

'^•udo, Doctor en Dei'echo Civil de la U-'iversidad de Cardra.-^ ( Venezucki) y Profetot 
de lengiias en Neuva- York. 
One vol. 12mo. 
14 



Ipiraisjr. 
A NEW SPANISH READER. 

CONSISTING OF 

PASSAGES FROM THE MOST APPROVED AUTHORS. IX PROSE AND VERSE. 

ARRANGED IN PROGRESSIVE ORDER; 

For the use of those who wish to obtain easily, a Practical Knowledge of 
the Castilian Language ; with Plain Rules., for its Pronun- 
ciation, Notes Explanatory of the Idioms and difficult 
Constructions, and a Copious Vocabulary. 

BEIXG A SEQUEL TO OLLENDORFF'S METHOD OF LEARNING TO READ, WRITK, AND 
SPEAK THE SPANISH LANGUAGE. 

BY MARIANO VELAZQUEZ DE LA CADENA, 

Editor of Ollendorff's Spanish Grammar. One volume. li2mo. Price Sl.*25. 

This book beinjj particularly intended for the use of beginners, has been prepared with l))ree 
objects in view, namely ; to furnish the learner with pleasing and ea^y le>-'Ons, progressively 
developing the beauties and difficulties of the Spanish lan::uage ; secondly, to enrich their 
inds with select instruction ; and thirdly, to form their character, by instilling cnrrecv 
■Biciples into their hearts. Tn order, therefore, to obtain the de>ired effect, the extracts 
fipe been carefully selected from such classic Spanish writers, both ancient and modern, 
^bse style is generally admitted to be a pattern of elegance, combined with idiomatic 
fl^' and sound moralily. — Extract from Preface. 



\ 



A NEW SPANISH PHRASE BOOK. 
AN EASY INTRODUCTION 



SPANISH CONVERSATION. 

Containing all that is necessary to make a rapid progress in it. 

PARTICULARLY DESIGNED FOR PERSONS WHO HAVE LITTLE TIME TO 

STUDY OR ARE THEIR OWN INSTRUCTORS. 

BY MAEIA:N^0 VELAZQUEZ DE LA CADEXA. 

One volume. 18mo. 100 pages. 38 cents. 

"The author of this little volume has long been favorably known as a teacher of the 
'panish language. He has supplied, in this volume, one of the best and must useful books 
for iearnei-s of Spanish we have yet seen It wdl prove a very efficient help to onversation 
itt Spanish ; and there is much more information in it than the size of the book would 
lead one to expect." — Commercial Advertiser. 

In preparation^ 

A DIG TION ARY 

OF THE 

SPANISH AND ENGLISH LANGUAGES. 

IN TWO parts: I. SPANISH AND ENGLISH. II. ENGLISH AND SPANISH. 

BY MARI^JS^O VELAZQUEZ DE LA CADE^^A, 

■ Editor of Ollendorff's Spanish Grammar, and 

J M. SEOANE, M. D. 

^ Th ©He large Svo. volume, uniform with ' Adler's German LexicoB." 

15 



114 



HISTOKICAL 

AND 

MISCELLANEOUS aUESTlONS. 

BY RICHMALL MANGNALL. 

*lrst American, from the Eighty-fourth London Edition. With large Aadirioat 

Embracing the Elements of Mythology, Astronomy, Architecture, 

Heraldry, &c. Adapted for Schools in the United States 

BY MRS. JULIA LAWRENCE. 

Illustrated with numerous Engravings. One Volume, 12mo. $1. 

CONTENTS. 

A Short View of Scripture Histoiy, from the Creation to the Return of the Jews — Questior 
from the Early Ages to the time of Julius Caesar — Miscellaneous Questions in Grecian Hisior 
—Miscellaneous Questions in General History, chiefly Ancient— Questions containing a Skeic 
of the most remarkable Events from the Christian Cra to the close of the Eighteenth Century- 
Miscellaneous Questions in Roman History — Questions in English History, from the Invasion o 
Caesar to the Reformation — Continuation of Questions in English History, from the Reformatio 
to the Present Time — Abstract of Early British History — Abstract of English Reisns from th 
Conquest — Abstract of the Scottish Reigns— Abstract of the French ReignSj from Pharamond t 
Philip I — Continuation of the French Reigns, from Louis VI to Louis Phillippe — Questions R( 
lating to the History of America, from its Discovery to the Present Time — Abstract of Roma 
Kin^s and most distinguished Heroes— Abstract of the most celebrated Grecians— Of Heathe 
Mythology in general — Abstract of Heathen Mythology — The Elements of Astronomy— Exph 
.ion of a few Astronomical Terms — List of Constellations— Questions on Common Subjecis- 
Questions on Architecture — Questions on Heraldry — Explanations of such Latin V^'ords an 
Phrases as are seldom Englished — Questions on the History of the Middle Ages. 

" This is an admirable work to aid both teachers and parents in instructing children and youll 
and there is no work of the kind that we have seen that is so well calculated " to awaken a spir 
»f laudable curiosity in young minds," and to satisfy that curiosity when awakened." 



HISTORY OF ENGLAND, 

From the Invasion of Julius CaBsar to the Reign of ftueen Victorw 

BY MRS. MARKHAM. 
A new Edition, with Questions, adapted for Schools in the United States. 

BY ELIZA ROBBINS, 

Author of '•'• American Popular Lessons^^^ " Poetry for Schools,^' Sfc. 

One Volume, l2mo. Price 75 cents. 

There is nothing more needed in our schools than ffood histories ; not the di7 compends 
ijesent use, but elementary works that shall suggest the moral uses of history, and the prov 
iii«nce of God, manifest in the affairs of men. 

Mr. Markham's history was used by that model for all teachers, the late Dr. Arnold, mast 
•f the great English school at Rusby, and acrrees in its character with h^^ enlightened and pioi 
ricwi of teaching history. It is now several years since I adajMed this history to the form ar 
price acceptable in the schools in the United States. I have recently revised it, and trust that 
may be extensively serviceable in education. 

The prmcipal alterations from the original are a new and more convenient division of par 
rraphs, and entire omission of the conversations annexed to the chapters. In the place of th» 
I have affired questions to every pa^e that may at once facilitate the work of the teacher ai 
the pupil. The rational and mora! features of this hook first commended it to me, *nd I ha' 
i>#rQn it xiccfissl'ully with my own scholars. — Extract from the American Editor's Preface 

17 



€ngliHJi. 
A MANUAL 07 ANCIENT AND MODERN HISTORY, 

C O M P R I S I X G : 

I. Ancient His tort, containing the Political HiPtory, Geographical Position, and Social 
Siai^ of the Principal Nations of Antiquity, carefully digested from the Ancient Writers, and il 
lustrared bv the disc overies of Modern Travellers and Scholars. 

n. Modern Hi^ tory. containing the Rise and Progress of the principal European Nation?, 
their Political Histcry. and the chansres in their Social Condition: with a Historvof the Colonie? 
Founded by Europeans. By W. COOKE TAYLOR. LL.D. cf Trinity College, Dublin. Rp\ise 1. 
with Additions on American History, by C. S. Henry. D. D.. Professor of History in theUniver 
8Uy of N. Y.. and Questions adapted for the Use of Schools and Colleges. One'handsome vc- , 
erro. ot 5<X> pages. S'J.25 : Ancient History in 1 vol. gl.Qo. ♦lodem History in 1 vol.. S1.50. 

The Ancient iiiSTORY division comprises Eighteen Chapters, whi'ch include the general 
outlines of the History of Egypt— the Ethiopians— Babylonia and Assyria— Western Asia— Pal 
estine — t'.ie Empire oi'the Medes and Persians — Ph'inician Colonies in Nonhem Africa — Found- 
ation and History of the Grecian States — Greece — the Macedonian Kingdom and Empire— the 
Slates that aro*e irom the dismembemient of the Macedonian Kingdom and Empire— Ancifnt 
Italy— Sicily— the Roman Republic— Geographical and Political Condition of the Roman Empin 
-History of the Roman Empire— and India — with an Appendix of imponant illustrative article^ 

This ponion is one of the best Compends of Ancient History that ever yet has appeared I< 
contains a complete text for the collegiate lecturer; and is an essential hand-book for thestudenl 
who is desirous to become acquainted with all that is memorable in general secular archaeology. 

The Modern History portion is divided into Founeen Chaprers. on the followinsr general 
subjects :— Consequences of the Fall of the Western Empire— Rise and Establishment" of the 
Saracenic Power — Restoration of the Western Empire — Growth of the Papal Power — Revival 
of Literature — Progress of Civilization ani Invention — Reformation, and Commencement of the 
States System in Europe— Augu.stan Ages of England and France — Mercantile and Colonial Sys- 
tem — Age of Revolutions— French Enipire — History of the Peace — Colonization — China— the 
Jews — with Chronolosical and Historical Tables and other Indexes. Dr. Henry has appended a 
new chapter on the History of the United States. 

This Manual of Modern History, by Mr. Taylor, is the mo^t valuable and instructive work 
concerning the general subjects which it comprehends, that can be found in the whole department 
of historical literature. Mi. Taylor's book is fast superseding all other compends, and is already 
adopted as a text-book in Harvard, Columbia, Yale, New-York. Permsylvania zmd Brown Urn- 
versiiies, and several leading Academies. 



MANUAL 

OF 

ANCIENT GEOGRAPHY AND HISTORY. 

BY WILHELM PUTZ, 

PRINCIPAL TrXOR IN THE GYMNASIUM OF DITREN. 

Translated from the German. 

EDITED BY THE REV. THOMAS K. ARNOLD, M. A. 

Author of a Series of*' Greek and Latin Text-Books." 

One volume, 12mo. §1. 

tG" This work supplies a desideratum in our classical Schools. 

^ At no period has History presented such strong claims upon the attention of the learned, as at 
the present day : and to no people were its lessons of such value as to those of the United States 
Witn no past of onr own to revert to. the great masses of our better educated are tempted to over 
look a science, which comprehends all others in its grasp. To prepare a text-book, which shall 
present a full, clear, and accurate view of the ancient world, its geography, its political, civil, 
social, religions state, must be the resuk only of vast industry and learning. Our examinanM>) 
of the present volume leads us to believe, tha: a^s i lext-book'on Ancient History, for Colleiies 
and Academies, it is the best compend yet published. It bears marks in its methodical arrans-r- 
inen'. a?- i condensation of materials, of the untirinsr patience of German scholarship; and in i»« 
prorre-- 'hmugh the Englisli and American press, lias been adapted for acceprnble use in »»m- 
be=' 'i- - -vjuTis. A noticeable feature of the book, is its pretty complete li.^i of - pourres of i?. 
forp ■ !ipon the nations which i' de-j'rjbes. This will be an invaluat)!e ?i\ \o nie =!r:ide' • 

k hi- .!••*> onrse of re.T.dir:?: '■ 



HOJESEN AND ARNOLD'S 

MANUALS of GREEK and ROMAN ANTIQUITIES 



A MANUAL OF GKECIAN AiNTIQUITIES. 

BY DR. E. F. BO JESEN, 

Piofessor of the Greek Language and Literature in the University of Soro. 

Translated from the German. 

SUITED, WITL -^OTES AND A COMPLETE SERIES OF QUESTIONS, BY THE REV. THOMAi 

K. ARNOLD, M. A. 

.iRST AMERICAN EDITION, REVISED WITH ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS 

One neat volume, 12mo. Price C2| cents. 

A MANUAL OF ROMAN ANTIQUITIES 

WITH A SHORT 

FIISTORY OF ROMAN LITERATURE. 

BY DR. E. F. BOJESEN. 

EDITED BY THOMAS K. ARNOLD, M. A. 

One neat volume, ]2mo. Price 62-2 cents. 

*^* THE ABOVE TWO VOLUMES BOUND IN ONE. PRICE $1. 

Tjie present manuals of Greek and Roman Antiquities are far superior to any thing on the sam* 
to )ics as yet offered to the American public. A principal Review of Germany says of the Roman 
Vlanual : — " Small as the com.pass of it is, we may confidently affirm that it is a great improvement 
,on all preceding works of the kind;. We no longer meet with the v/ietched old method, in which 
«uhject5 essentially distinct are herded together, and connected subjects disconnected, but have a 
iim /le, systematic arrangement, by which the reader easily receives a clear representation of Roman 
life. We no longer stumble against countless errors ki detail, which, though long ago assailed and 
extirpated by Niebuhr and others, have f()und their last place of refuge in our Manuals. Th« 
recent investigations of Philologists and jurists have been extensively, but carefully and circum 
Bpectly used. The conciseness and precision which the author ha.s every where prescribed to himself 
prexents the superficial observer from perceiving the essential superiority of the book to its prede 
/Cssors, but whoever subjects it to a careful examination will discover this on every page." 

The Editor says : — " I fully believe that the pupil will receive from these little works a correct 
«iid tolerably complete picture of Grecian and Roman life ; what I may call the political per 
.H.>ns — the account of the national constitutions and their effects — appear to me to be of greal 
«i.'3e ' and the very moderate extent of each volume admits of its being thoroughly mastered — of 

3«»inf; <^0T UP and retained." 

FroTn Professor Lincoln, of Brown University. 

' found on m} table after a short absence from home, your edition of Bojesen s Greeh and Ro 
ovaii Antiquities. Pray accept my acknowledgments for it. I am afreeably s./rprised to find on 
wamjning it, that within so very narrow a compass fo so comprehensive a subject, the book con 
»ains io miuh valuable matter, and indeed so far as T see. omit^ noticing no *oplcs essential. 
It will be a very useful book in Schools and Colleges, and it is far j-tiperlor to anv thing that I 
ksow of the same kind. Reslder, being cheap and accessible to all students it has ' ' qrea' merit o^ 
» sfii^cir.ij ;»'! topics in a nonseciitive and connected manner." 

19 



/rintji. 



OLLENDORFF'S NEW METHOD 

OF 

LEARNING TO READ, WRITE, AND SPEAK 

THE FEEXCH LANGUAGE, 

A^'itli in Appendix, containing the Cardinal and Ordinal Numbers, and full Paradigms of the 
Regular and Irregular, Auxiliary, Reflective, and Impersonal Verbs. 

By J. L. Jewett. One volume, l2mo. ^1. 

' New Method of Learning the French Language. — This grammar must supersede 
ali cJhers now used lor instruction in the French, language. Its conception and arrangement are 
admirable, — the work evidently of a mind famiiiar wiih the deficiencies of the systems, the 
place of which it is designed to supply. In all the works of the khid ihat have fallen under our 
notice, there has been so much left\mexplained or obscure, and so many things have been 
omitted— trifles, perhaps, in the estimation of the author, but the cause of great embarrassment 
to the learner — that they have been comparatively valueless as self-instructors. The student, 
deceived by their specious pretensions, has not proceeiled far before he has fell himself in a 
condition similar to that of a mariner who should put out to sea without a compass to direct 
iiim. lie has encountered dilhculty after difficulty, to which his gi'ammar aflx»rded no clue ; 
when, disappointed and discouraged, he has either abandoned the study in di.sgust, or if his 
means permitted, has resorted to a teacher to accomplish what it was not in his power to eflect 
by the aid of his 'self-instructor.' 

" Ollendorff' has passed his roller over the whole field of French instruction, and the rugged 
inequalities formerly to be encountered, no longer discourage the learner. What were the 
difficulties of the language, are here mastered m succession ; and the only surprise of the 
student, as he passes from lesson to lesson, is, that he meets none of these ' lions in the v/ay.' 

"'The value of the work has been greatly enhanced by a careful revision, and rhe addition of 
111 appendix containing matter essential to its compeleceness either as a book *br the use of 
teachers or for self-instruction." — New- York Commercial Advertiser. 



OLLENDORFF'S 
FIRST LESSONS IN FRENCH, 

OE. 

ELEMENTARY FRENCH GRAMMAR, 

[NTRODUCTORY TO OLLENDORFF'S LARGER GRAMMAR, 

BY G. W. GREENE, 

Instructor of Modern Languages in. Brown Unixersitij. 
One volume, 16mo. 38 cents. ; with a Key, 50 cents. 

This volume is intended as an introduction to " Ollendorff's complete French Method,'* 
w. ' is published in accordance with a very general demand made for a more elementary work 
tf»ai the larger Grammar. 

"It is believed that the student who shall take the pains to go carefully through this volume, 
in the manner suggested in the Directions for studying it, will come to the study of the 
'Complete Method' with a degree of praparation which' will render his subsequent progress 
f«sy and agreeable." 



{NEARL Y READ Y.) 

OLLENDORFFS NEW METHOD 

OF LEARNING TO READ. TRANSLATE. WRITE, AND SPEAK 

THE FRENCH LANGUAGE. 

Preceded by a Treatise on French Pro7iunriatio)i. hrj which that dijjicidt part of a spoken 

language can be easily acquired in 12 Lessons. 

Together with a Commercial Correspondence, a Complete Grammatical 

Synopsis, and a Correct Index. 

BY V. VALUE, 

Professor of the French Language. 
One vol. 12nio. 



NEW DRAMATIC FRENCH READER. 
CHEFS-D'CEUVRES DRAxMATIUUES 

DE LA 

L A N G U E F R A N C A 1 S E . 

Mis en Ordre Progressif, et Annotes, pour en faciiiter L' Intelligence. 

PAR A, G. COLLOT9 

Professor de Langues et de Litterature 

One Volume, 12ino. of 520 pages. Price ^1. 

We have examined this book wiih great interest, and can confidently recommend it to stu- 
dents and teachers of the French language, as better adapted to the purposes of a reading book 
.nan any other with which we are acquainted. It is made up of fourteen complete dramas, 
taken from the works of the best and purest writers, among which are the g^reat names of Cor- 
neille. Racine, Moliere, and Piron. The pieces are systematically arranged in progressive order, 
and ihe idiomatical difficulties of the language are fully and clearly explained in ihe notes. Tc 
those who are desirous of speaking French this book is invaluable, as the conversational and 
idiomatic phrases, so indispensable to this accomplishment, are met with on every page ; and to 
those vv'ho wish to cultivate their taste, and to obtain a knowledge, not only of the French lan- 
guage, but of the writings of its most eminent dramatists, this volume will supply the place of 
voluminous collection? not easy to be obtained. Its typographical accuracy and appearance has 
seldom been equalled in any French book that has heretofore issued from the press of this coun- 
try. — Courier and Enquirer. 

' This book is made up of pieces of progressive difficulty, as exercises in the study of French. 
We have first a Proverb or two in the simplest style, with foot-notes explanatory of idiomatic 
phrases; then a couple of Berquin's pieces, intended for learners; then some half dozen of 
Scribe's popular dramas, full of action, and exhibiting many peculiarities of French manners- 
and language ; Moliere's Misanthrope ; Voltaire's Merope ; Racine's Athalie ; and, lastly, the 
Cinna of Corneiile — all entire ; which is, certainly, an improvement on all other FrencJi leading 
books, the fragmentary style of which has often vexed us. The whole appears to us achnirably 
adapted for its purpose. — Christian Examiner. 



^^.♦►^. 



NEW MODERN FRENCH READER. 

MORCEAUX CHOISIES DES AUTEURS MODERNES, 

A LA USAGE DE LA JEUNESSE. 

With a Vocabulary of the New and Difficult Words and Idiomatic Phrases 

adopted in Modern Frencli Literature. 

By F. ROWAN. 

Edited by J. L. Jewett, Editor of Ollendorff 's French Method. 

One volume, 12mo. 75 cents. 

The chief object of the present volume is to offer the means of making the youth acquainted 
with the French Language, as it is spoken in the present day, and as it is presented in the works 
of xe modern authors of France, without the risk of sullying the mind of the young reader, by 
an intrcK^uction to such scenes and principles, as but too often disgrace the pages of writers who 
would bf an honor to humanity, were their moral qualities but equal to their genius. 

The second is to facilitate the task of the teacher, by endeavoring to render the work attrac- 
tive in the eyes of the pupil ; and such selections have therefore been made, as will, it is hoped, 
be interesting and entertaining to the yotmg reader, while, at the same time, ihey will prove 
worthy specimens of the peculiar style of their respective authors, and sufficitntly demonstrate 
the great idiomatic revolution which has taken place in the French Language within the last 
quarter of a century. 

The American edition of the work is rendered still more valuable and interesting by the addi- 
tion of extracts from the writings of Sismondi and Mignet, modern historiaas of dis'iinguished 
merit. The vocabulary of new'and difficult words and idiomatic phrases is also more conveni- 
ently arranged for reference, and considerably enlarged ; while the whole has undergone thorough 
revision, with a view to accuracy in every particular ; and the orthography has been made to 
conform to that of the Dictionary of the Academy and the usage of modern writers. 

List of Authors. —Alex. Dumas, Alex, de Tocqueville, Allied de Vigney, Alph. Karr, Aug 
Thierry, Rignon, Capetigue, De Balzac, De Lamartine, E. Souvestre, Eusene Sue, F. Soulie, 
Guizot', Cust. de Beaumont. Jules Janin, Leon Goslan, D'Aubigne, Merimee, MJchelet, Sal' 
vandy, Lavallee. Thiers. Victor Hugo, Villemain, Sismondi, Mignet. 

8 



jPcrHrjj, ^t. 



THE CLASSIC FEEXCH READER 

FOR ADVA^"CED STUDENTS; 

OK, 

BEAUTIES UP THE TREXCH WRITERS, AXCIEM AND MODERN 

BY ADAM DE FIVAS. 

Witn a Vocabulan', French and English, of all the Words and Idioms 

contained in the Work. By J. L. JeweA. 

One Volume, 12mo of 390 pages. Price, $1. 

'•This work is a coniinuation of ihe Series beginning with Ollendorff's French Grammar, 
and embraces seiections from the writings of all the literary periods, and specimens of tlie vari- 
ous styles of the most distinguished wri:ers. It is a well-iligested book, convenient as a manual 
for students, since it unites the advantages of a reading book, lexicon, and grammar, and will 
be highly prized by those who are acquainted with the preceding publication of the Series." 



NEW ELEMENTARY FRENCH READER, 



EsTRODUCTION TO THE FRENCH LANGUAGE; 

CONTAIinNG 

Fables., Select Tales, Remarkable Facts, Amusiug Anecdotes, etc. 

WITH 

A DICTIOXAEY 

OF ALL THE V^^OKDS, TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH, 
By M. DE FIVAS, Member of several Literary Societies, 
One neat volume. r2mo. Price 50 cents. 
This work has passed through five editions in England, and rapidly found its way as a class- 
book into tile most eminent public and private seminaries. 

The pieces contained in this volume comprehend a greai variety of subjects, and are gener- 
ally of a lively and familiar style, the phrases will .^erve as elements of conversation, and enable 
the student to read with facility other French books. 

In the Dicdonaiy at the end, is given the meaning of every word contained in the book. 
Tiie explanatory words are placed at the end of the book, instead of at the foot of the page-, 
by this method learners will derive considerable benefit. 

Though this svork is designedly for the use of schools, the author has borne in mind, that 
mcmy of the ieai-ners of French are adults, therefore, while it is adapted for youthi'ul students, 
an endeaz-or has also been made to make it acceptable to those of more advanced age. 



GESENIUS' HEBREW GRAMMAR. 

Founeenth Edition, as Revised by Dr. E. Rodiger. Translated by T. J. Coxa-vt, 
Professor of Hebrew in Madison University, N. Y. 

With the Modifications of the Editions subsequent to the Eleventh, by Dr. Davies. 

of Stepney College, London, 

To which are added. A Course of Exercises in Hebrew Grastsiar, and a Hebrew Chrbs- 
TOMATHY. prepared by the Translator. One handsomely printed vol. Svo. Price $2. 

Extract from the Translator's Preface. 
*'The fourteenth edition of the Hebrew Grammar of Gesenius is now offered to the public by 
the translat.^r of the eleventh edition, by whom thi^ work wafs first niacle accessible to students in 
the English language. The conviction expressed in his preface to that edition, that its publica- 
tion in this country' would subserve the interests of Hebrew literature, has been fvjly sustained 
by the result. After a full trial of the merits o\ this work, both in America and in England, iL« 
repuMication is now demanded in i..? latest and most imnrove ! form." 



#trar{i. 



THE 

STANDARD PRONOUNCING DICTIONARY 

OF THE 

FRENCH AND ENGLISH LANGUAGES, 

IN TWO PARTS. 
PartL FRENCH ANL ENGLISH.— Part II. ENGLISH AND FRENCH. 
The First Pa.rt comprehending words in common use — Terms connected with Science— 
erms belonging to fclie Fine Arts — 4000 Historical Names — 4000 Geographical Names — llOO 
teims lately published, with the pronunciation of every word, according to the F^nclt 
AcadejTiy and the most eminent Lexicographers and Grammarians ; together with 75'0 Critiesi 
Rcinar/xS, in which the various methods of pronouncing employed by different authors are inves- 
tigated and compared with each other. 

The Second Part containing a copious vocabulary of English words and expressions, witi 
the pronunciation according to Walker. 

the whole preceded by 

A Practical and Comprehensive System of French Pronunciation/ 

By Gabriel Surenne, F. A. S. E., 

Frer.ch Teacher in Edinhurgh; Corresponding Member of the French Orammatical Society 

of Paris, Si'C., <S,-c. 

Rejirinted from a duplicate cast of the stereotype platG« of the last Edinburgh edition. 

One stout volume, I'iuio., of nearly GuO pages. Price §1 50. 

A FEW CRITIPI*<MS ON ITS MERITS. 

Kindrrhook .Academy, April 7, 1347. 
Sutinne's French Dictionary i? i*t many respects superior to those of *' Meadow " and 
" Boyer." The Proper Names at the bottom of each page, and the method of explaining the 
pronunciation, (by the French sounds of the vowels, with which the pupil has become familiar,] 
!ire in my opinion distinguishing excellences. SILAS METCALF. 

Princeton, Dec. 13, 1847. 
We use habitually the admirable Dictionary of Surenne. 

LYMAN COLExMAN. 

JsTational JMairazine. 

" This work mu^t have been one (--f very great labour, as it is evidently of deep research. We 
iiave given it a careful examination, and are neriectly safe in saying, we have never before seen 
any thing of tlie kind at all to compare with it. Our space will not permit us to give more than 
this general testimony to its value. Long as the title is, and much as it promises, our examination 
3f the work proves that all the promises are fulfilled, and we think tliat n ) student of the French 
anguHge should, for a moment, hesitate to possess himself of it. Nor, indeed, will it be found 
less useful to the accompJisiied French scholar, who will find in it a fund of information which 
can nowhere be met with in any one book. Such a work has f;^r a h^ng time been greatly needed, 
and Mr. Surenne has su})plied the deticiency in a masterly style. We rejieat, therefre, our well 
digested opinion, tiiat no one in search of a knowledge of the niceties of the French language 
shf uld be without it." 

J\rew- York Observer. 

"Every stadeut of the French language, and every person of taste who is ftmd of reading 
French, and wisb.es to become pr«>ficient in that tongue, should possess this comprehensive but 
complete dictionary. It embraces all the words in commcm use, \nd those in science and tha 
fine arts, historical and geographical names, etc., with the pronunciation of every Tf(;rd according 
to the French Academy, together with such critical remarli5 as will be usefiil to every learner. 
It is publisiied in aibrm of extreme condensation, and yet contains so full a comi)ilation of words, 
definitions, etc., as scarcely to leave any thing to be desired." 

Boston Courier. 

" This is, we believe, the first French pronouncing dictionary that has aj)peared in the English 
iield of French education, and the compiler, Mr. Surenne, may well lelicitate liiniselfon the de 
cided success which has attended his eff'orts to furnish us with this long expected desideratum 
Mr. S. has rendered precise what was before uncertain, clear what had hitherto been obscure, ia 
short, ])ut into the bands of both teachers and scholars, an authority u ivliilology and pronun 
ciation, as good, as correct, as authoritative as Johnson. Walker, or Webster, in the Cnglish 
tongue. The method adopted for representing the sounds of words, is f »r tbe English or American 
eye rnd ear, so tiiat faultless pronunciation may be dejiended upon. The uhraseology is often (ha< 
of the French Academy, consequently of the highest authority, and is both copious and Mracticai 
The English pronuncHation is |)recisely after the plan of Webster, imitated or followed wiih thfl 
most set upuious accuracy, thu^giving two extraordinary aavantai/es in one work, viz., a liction 
iry of l^'rench pronunciation, with words and iiKinings, and a standard of English pronunoidtitin 
VVe exhor?, we entreat teachers, parenis; guardians, all interested in tbe education of youth, tl 
look at ibis splendid work of indrfttry and j^eumty^iid, they wi!^|^ and recognize its sa »• 
norir, at a :r!au(:" 



10 



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